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CANZONI 

AND 

hS€liR5?fOFWEDLOCK 






« .A. Jks* .'i>' 



\J..t a\ 




Class. 
Book. 



CANZONI 



BY T. A. DALY 
McARONI BALLADS 
MADRIGALI 
CARMINA 

CANZONI ^ One 

SONGS OF WEDLOCK | Volume 



C ANZONI 



AND 



SONGS OF WEDLOCK 



BY 

T. A. DALY 



FRONTISPIECE BY 
JOHN SLOAN 






NEW YORK 

HARCOURT. BRACE AND HOWE 






COPYRIGHT, 1906, BY 
T. A. DALY 

COPYRIGHT, I916, BY 
DAVID MCKAY 



6 516 3 

FEB 1 7 1941 



^0 

MY WIFE 
AND CHILDREN 



CONTENTS 

CANZONI 

PACE 

DA COMICA MAN 3 

good morning 5 

carlotta's indecision 7 

ballade to the women 9 

in the august night ii 

da blue devil 13 

FATHER O'SHEA AND FATHER M'cREA . . I5 

HEARTS APART I7 

BALLADE OF THOSE PRESENT . . . . 18 

LEETLA HUMPY JEEM 20 

IF YOU WERE A BOY 22 

A NEW PATRIOT 24 

DOLCE FAR NIENTE 2$ 

A DIXIE LULLABY 26 

DA GREATA STRONGA MAN 2/ 

THE " OUCHES " 29 

FATHER DAN O'M ALLEY 3O 

CONTENT 34 

W'at'sA USE? 35 

KISS HER 37 

dear unselfish dan 38 

her answer 4o 

kitty's graduation .41 

an italian king 45 

DA pritta lady 47 

A FROSTY MORNING 49 

TO THE GROWLER 5I 

THE NATIONAL ENCAMPMENT • • • • 53 

vii 



CONTENTS 



PAGE 

AT CASTLE GARDEN 54 

THE WISDOM OF THE SPARROWS .... 57 

THE MODEST COLLEEN 59 

THE OLD PARISHIONER 60 

THE " BUILDING INSPECTOR " . . . .62 

THE IRISH BACHELOR 64 

TO A PLAIN SWEETHEART 66 

THE CONQUEST 67 

A BOOK NOT " GIVABLE " 69 

DA MUSICA MAN 73 

THE " MODERATE DRINKER " 74 

DA 'MERICANA GIRL 76 

FAINT HEART 78 

BALLADE OF FAMILY NAMES .... 79 

DA STYLEESHA LADY 8 1 

ALMOST 83 

CAREY, THE KILL-JOY 85 

A LESSON IN POLITICS 87 

MISTLETOE AND HOLLY 89 

HANDICAPPED 9O 

A FANCY NICOTIAN 92 

UN LAZZARONE 94 

BEDFELLOWS 96 

THOSE DIRTY LITTLE FINGERS . . . .98 

DA YOUNGA 'mERICAN IOC 

NIGHT IN bachelor's HALL I02 

THE INDOMITABLE CELT IO4 

DA FAMILY MAN I05 

DA FIGHTIN' IRISHMAN I06 

THE SPOILED CHILD I08 

DA STYLEESHA WIFE HO 

THE kettle's song OF HOME . . . .Ill 

TO THE ATHEIST 112 

AT HOME 114 

TO AN OLD LOVER Il5 

TREASURE-TROVE 1 17 



CONTENTS ix 

PAGE 

THE LITTLE BOY Il8 

all's well 119 

to a violinist 121 

to the city unbeautiful i24 

a song for february i26 

the birth-month 12/ 

a song for june i28 

the veteran marching alone .... i3o 

the birth o' tam o'shanter .... i33 

summer's SWAN-SONG 139 

a summer idyl i4i 

" ada rehan is dead " i44 

yesterday's rain 146 

ballade of the sea i48 

the song of the march wind .... i50 

darby and joan i5i 

the village poet 153 

a song to one 155 

SONGS OF WEDLOCK 

THE PERFECT SOLITUDE 159 

WHEN DAY BEGINS 160 

TO A THRUSH 161 

THE JOURNEY 166 

IN WINTRY WEATHER 167 

INSCRIPTION FOR A FIREPLACE .... 169 

THE MOTHER I70 

A SONG FOR JANUARY I7I 

INSPIRATION 172 

THE SANCTUM 173 

PERENNIAL MAY 174 

AT THE THRESHOLD 175 

HER MUSIC 177 

THE CITADEL 179 

A SONG FOR AUGUST 181 



CONTENTS 



PAGE 

LOVE IS ETERNAL 182 

THE queen's fleets 184 

THE LIVING-ROOM 186 

A SONG FOR NOVEMBER 1 88 

TO THE INCONSTANT 189 

THE GATES OF PARADISE I9O 

NOVEMBER I9I 

THE man's PRAYER I93 

A SONG FOR DECEMBER I94 



CANZONI 



DA COMICA MAN 

GIACOBBE FINELLI so funny, O! My! 
By tweestin' hees face an' by weenkin' 
hees eye 
He maka you laugh teell you theenk you'weell 
die. 
He don't gotta say som'theeng; all he ees do 

Ees maka da face an', how moocha you try, 
You no can help laugh w'en he lookin' at you — 
Giacobbe Finelli so funny, O! My! 

I deeg een da tranch weeth Giacobbe wan day; 
Giacobbe ees toss up da spadefulla clay, 
An' beeg Irish boss he ees gat een da way! 
Da boss he ees look at Giacobbe an' swear 

So bad as he can, but Giacobbe, so sly, 
He maka pretand he no see he was dere — 
Giacobbe Finelli so funny, O! My! 

But w'en da boss turn an' ees starta for go, 
Giacobbe look up an' he mak' da face — So! 
I laugh an' I laugh lika deesa — Ho! ho! 

3 



CANZONI 



Da boss he com' back an' he poncha my head, 
He smasha my nose an' he blacka my eye — 

I no can help laugh^eef I gona be dead. 
Giacobbe Finelli so funny, O! My! 



CANZONI 



GOOD MORNING 

DAY dawns, and bids the blushing sky 
" Good morning! " 
The flute- voiced birds take up the cry: 

" Good morning! " 
And nearer home, beneath the eaves. 
The gnarled old maple's tender leaves 
That shivered in the midnight rain. 
Now whisper at my window-pane: 

" Good morning! " 
The genial sun peeps o'er the hill 
And laughs across my window sill. 
Eyes quiver imder sleepy lids — 
This is the King himself who bids 

" Good morning! " 

I rise and ope the window wide. 
The sun-kissed breezes charge and ride 
Straight through the breach in merry rout. 
And scale the walls and fairly shout: 

" Good morning! " 
They make me captive to the King, 
They pluck at me and bid me sing 
Their paean to the Golden Day, 
Whose conquering slogan is their gay 

" Good morning! " 



CANZONI 



They frolic here, they scamper there, 
They clutch the singing birds in air, 
On all the world their music beats 
Until the captive world repeats: 

" Good morning! " 
Heart calls to heart. The surly wight, 
Who scorned his neighbor yesternight, 
With smiling visage stops to greet 
That neighbor in the busy street: ♦* 

" Good morning! " 

O! joyous day! O! smile of God, 
To hearten all who toil and plod; 
We hail thee, Conqueror and King! 
We hug our golden chains and sing: 
" Good morning! " 



CANZONI 



CARLOTTA'S INDECISION 

1 WOULD lika mooch to know 
Why Carlotta treat me so. 
Evra time I ask eef she 
Ees gon' marry weetha me, 
First she smila, den she frown, 
Den she look me up an' down, 
Den she shak' her head an' say: 
" I gon' tal you Chrees'mas Day." 

Once w'en we are out for walk 
An' I am begin to talk, 
She say: " Don'ta speak no more. 
O! com', see dees jew'ler store. 
My! jus' look dat di'mon' reeng! 
Eet ees justa sweetes' theeng! 
Only seexa-feefty, see? " 

Dat's da way she teasa me, 
Findin' theengs for talka 'bout 
Jus' for mak' me shut my mout'. 
Bimeby w'en she turn for go 
I say: " Com', I musta know—" 
" O! " she stamp her foot an' say: 
" I gon' tal you Chrees'mas Day." 



CANZONI 

I would lika mooch to know 
Why Carlotta treat me so. 
W'ata for she always say: 
" I gon' tal you Chrees'mas Day "? 



CANZONI 



BALLADE TO THE WOMEN 

THE poets, extolling the graces 
Of sweet femininity, pay 
Particular court, in most cases, 
To Phyllis or Phoebe or Fay. 
" A toast to the ladies! " they say — 
As " ladies " they always address them — 

And bid us bow down to them. Nay! 
We sing the plain " women," God bless them! 

Though light-o'-loves, frail as the laces 

And satins in which they array 
The charms of their forms and their faces, 

Are " ladies " for their little day. 

The feet of such idols are clay. 
Our wives, when we come to possess them, 

Must loom to us larger than they. 
We sing the plain " women," God bless them! 

Sweet creatures who make the home-places 
As cheerful and bright as they may. 

Whose feminine beauty embraces 
A heart to illumine the way. 
Though skies may be ever so gray; 

Good mothers, whose children caress them 
And hail them as chums at their play — 

We sing the plain " women," God bless them! 



10 CANZONI 



ENVOY 

! Queen, teach the " ladies," we pray. 
Whenever vain notions oppress them, 

Though idly their charms we survey. 
We sing the plain " women," God bless them! 



CANZONI II 



IN THE AUGUST NIGHT 

THE day is done, with all the heat 
That swathed the swooning city. 
The dusk that falls so cool and sweet 
Is doubly sweet with pity. 

To those the blazing sun oppressed, 
What time he played the hector, 

The night-wind comes from out the west, 
A Hebe bearing nectar. 

Impartially she gives to all 

A blessed draught ecstatic; 
The ennuye in pleasure's hall, 

The sick child in the attic. 

She seeks the squalid haunts of sin. 

With gentle self-abasement, 
She steals with inspiration in 

The poet's open casement. 

I watch the pensive poet there. 
Beside his window dreaming. 

To him the night, so calm and fair, 
With rhapsodies is teeming. 



12 CANZONI 



Up through the fields of twinkling spheres 
His raptured soul is winging, 

And in his fancy's flight he hears 
The very heavens singing. 

Sing, poet! Sing the night-wind's song, 
And weave your fancies through it; 

Some heart, world-weary, in the throng 
Will beat responsive to it. 



CANZONI 13 



DA BLUE DEVIL 

SOM'TIME w'en I no feela good 
An' beezaness ees flat, 
I gat so blue I weesh I could 

Be justa dog or cat. 
W'en evratheeng ees gona wrong 

An' I mus' feex eet right, 
I gat deesgust' for work so long 

An' theenk would be delight 
For be a leetla cat, baycause 

Da only work she do 
Ees wash her face an' leeck her paws, 

An' after dat she through. 
Eef you be dog you jus' can go 

For sleepin' een da sun, 
An' you don't gat a wife, you know, 

For aska you for mon'. 
Eet's mak' no odds how you behave 

Eef you are animal; 
You don't gat any soul to save, 

An' when you die, dat's all! 
O! my, how easy kind of life 

For justa nevva mind. 
To run away an' leave your wife 

An' evratheeng bayhind! 



14 CANZONI 



Dees ees da way I feela w'en 

I'm blue, but, alia same, 
W'en I am feel all right agen 

Eet mak'sa me ashame'. 
W'en devil gat eenside o' me 

For mak' me feel like dat, 
I guess I would not even be 

A decen' dog or cat. 



CANZONI 15 



FATHER O'SHEA AND FATHER McCREA 

YE might search the world's ends, 
But ye'd find no such friends 
As Father O'Shea an' Father McCrea. 
Very caustic in wit 

Was Father O'Shea, 
But as droll every bit 
Was Father McCrea; 
An' 0! such a volley 0' fun they were pokin', 

The wan at the other, as good as a play, 
Wid their ready replies an' their innocint jokin', 
When Father O'Shea met Father McCrea. 

Now, upon a March Sunday it came for to pass 

Good Father McCrea 
Preached a very fine sermon an' then, afther 
Mass, 

Met Father O'Shea. 
" 'Twas a very appropriate sermon for Lent 

Ye delivered this minute. 
For the season o' fastin' 'twas very well meant — 
I could find no meat in it! " 
Said Father O'Shea. 

Then, quick as the laughther that gleamed in his 
eye. 

Good Father McCrea 



i6 CANZONI 



Raised a finger o' protest an' made his reply 

To Father O'Shea. 
" Faith, I'll have to be workin' a miracle next, 

To comply wid your wishes. 
Dare you ask me for meat, my dear sir, when the 
text 
Was * the loaves an' the fishes '? " 
Said Father McCrea. 

Very caustic in wit 

Was Father O'Shea, 
But as droll every bit 
Was Father McCrea; 
Though ye'd search the world's ends 
Ye would find no such friends 
As Father O'Shea an' Father McCrea. 



CANZONI 17 



HEARTS APART 

TO count the days until we twain 
May read each other's eyes again, 
And dwell once more in Arcady, 
Is all my joy away from thee — 
Is all my joy and all my pain. 

When leaden-footed minutes wane 
To hours that burden heart and brain, 

'Twere but a useless agony 
To count the days, 
Did thy most gracious heart not deign 
To bid my own heart entertain 

The hope of better things to be; 

Did I not know thy constancy 
And that, until we meet again, 
Two count the days. 



i8 CANZONI 

BALLADE OF THOSE PRESENT 

TO the papers whose trade is supplying 
The news in a gossipy way, 
All the workaday world should be hieing, 
Its compliments grateful to pay. 
How kind to the public are they 
When they publish our names in their pleasant 

Descriptions of ball or soiree 
As " among the most prominent present! " 

When we sit at the banquet board, trying 

To tickle our palates blase, 
Comes a thought that is more gratifying 

Than all the Lucullan array; 

More sweet than the sherry's bouquet. 
Or the flavor of succulent pheasant — 

The thought of appearing next day 
As " among the most prominent present." 

Since the common folk simply are dying 

To know what we do or we say, 
It were really a shame our denying 

To them all the pleasure we may.. 

Then the news let the papers convey 
To the shopman, mechanic and peasant, 

Noting us at the dance or the play 
As " among the most prominent present." 



CANZONI 19 

ENVOY 

St. Peter, receive us, we pray, 

When we've done with this world evanescent, 
Assigning us places for aye 

As " among the most prominent present." 



20 CANZONI 



LEETLA HUMPY JEEM 

DA 'Merican boys eesa vera bad lot, 
Dey steala peanutta, banan', 
An' evratheeng gooda for eatin' I got, 

An' mak' all da troubla dey can. 
I gotta be keepin' awak' weeth both eye 

An' watch alia time for a treeck, 
An' gotta be queecka for runnin' an' try 

To spanka deir pants weetha steeck. 
Ees wan o' dees boys dat ees call " Humpy Jeem," 

An' justa wors' wan in da pack. 
But how am I gona gat madda weeth heem? 

He gotta da hump on da back. 

Ees only a poor leetla keed an' so weak, 

An' I am so beeg an' so strong, 
I no can gat mad an' I not even speak 

For tal heem how moocha ees wrong. 
Eet maka heem laugha baycause eet ees fun 

For reach weeth hees theen leetla han' 
An' grabbin' a coupla peanutta an' run 

So fas' as hees skeenny legs can. 
So always I maka pretand I no see 

How moocha peanutta he tak'. 
I guess I would like som' wan do dat for me 

Eef I gotta hump on da back. 



CANZONI 21 



Da beeg Irish cop ees say: " Poor leetla Jeeml 

Ees better for heem if he croke." 
I tal you eef som'theeng no happen to heem 

I guess pretta soon I be broke. 
I no like to theenkin' bad luck, but 0! my! 

I weeshin' for evra one's sak' 
Dey soon gat an angela up in da sky 

Dat gotta da hump on da back. 



22 CANZONI 



IF YOU WERE A BOY 

IF you were a boy this morning, 
I wonder what you would do? 
Was ever a day more perfect, 

Was ever the sky more blue? 
I'm speaking to you, grave senior. 

I noticed you as you went, 
Hot-footing it into the city, 

To add to your cent, per cent. 
I noticed your sober manner. 

Your very important looks, 
And I noticed your boy beside you, 

The schoolboy with his books. 
I saw — and you saw — where the river 

Sweeps down to the " swimmin'-hole," 
Another boy playing " hookey " — 

A boy with a fishing-pole. 

If you were a boy this morning, 

I wonder what you would do? 
I saw you stooping to whisper 

A word to the boy with you. 
It seemed to me then you told him 

That the truant boy was a fool. 
That nothing ripens manhood 

Like the moments spent in school. 



CANZONI 23 



With tlie fresh blue sky above you 

And the green fields under it, 
How dare you utter such nonsense! 

O! liar and hypocrite? 
If you were a boy this morning, 

A boy with a heart and soul. 
You'd be, in spite of a licking. 

The boy with the fishing-pole. 



24 CANZONI 



A NEW PATRIOT 

EES no so hard for Dago man 
To be a gooda 'Merican. 
Too dumb, too slow, you theenka me. 
But I am sharpa 'nough for see 
Da firsta theeng dat you mus' know 
Ees how to speak da Inglaice, so 
Dat you can wave your hat an' say: 
" Da redda, whita, blue! Hooray! " 

Eef you are smarta 'Merican 
You try for skeen som' udder man, 
Baycause you know dat he weell do 
Da sama kinda treecks weeth you. 
But you are good as heem an' he 
Ees jus' so good as you an' me, 
So long we all stan' up an' say: 
"Da redda, whita, blue! Hooray! " 

For land dat I was leevin' een 

Da flag ees redda, whita, green. 

So alia w'at I gotta do 

Ees jus' forgat da green for blue. 

I skeen you eef I gatta chance, 

But dat ees mak' no deeferance. 

I gooda 'Merican, an' say: 

"Da redda, whita, blue! Hooray! " 



C A N Z O N I 25 



DOLCE FAR NIENTE 

THERE'S lazy clouds a-driftin» 
In the lazy sky 0' June, 
An' Nature's just in keepin' 

With this lazy afternoon. 
I've strolled out through the meaders 

To this pleasant little nook, 
An' I'm loafin' in the shadders. 

An' a-listenin' to the brook. 
But I ain't a bit contented — 

Not a bit, an' that's a fac' — 
For I can't help a-thinkin' 

Of the long walk back. 

The little brook's a-singin' 

Kinder lazy-like an' low, 
An' it's mighty cool an' restin' 

Where its crystal waters flow. 
An' its singin' charms a feller. 

An' it seems ter say to him 
As he's layin' nigh a-dozin': 

" Don't yer wanter take a swim? " 
Now there's nothin' I like better 

Than to take a swim, but then 
There's the trouble of a-puttin' 

On yer clothes again. 



26 CANZONI 



A DIXIE LULLABY 

Ol DE sun quit a-shinin' fo' di^ arternoon, 
• De possum in de gum-tree mighty still, 
An' de old San'-Man jump off f'um de moon 

Wen hit done come obah de hill. 
An' he come erlong totin' a baig full o' san' 

Fo' ter frow inter pickaninnies' eyes, 
An' he teck dem erway to de sweet slumber-Ian' 
Fo' ter stay 'twell de nex' sun-rise. 

So g'long wif de San'-Man, deah, 

De good Lawd keep 

Yo' w'ile yo' sleep, 
An' yo' mammy'll 'wait yo' heah. 

O! he'll teck yo' up on a bright moon-ray 

An' he'll rock yo' on a cloud in de skies, 
An' he'll keep yo' dar 'twell de break o' day, 

So, mah honey, jes' close yo' eyes; 
'Less de moon go down in de far-off west, 

An' outer de dahk swamp-Ian' 
De bad Boogy-Man come out ob he nest 

An' skeer off de good San'-Man. 

So g'long wif de San'-Man, deah, 

De good Lawd keep 

Yo' w'ile yo' sleep. 
An' yo' mammy'll 'wait yo' heab. 



CANZONI 27 



DA GREATA STRONGA MAN 

YOU oughta see my Uncla Joe 
Wen he ees gatta mad. 
He ees da strongest man I know 

Wen som' wan treat heem bad. 
Hees eye eet flash like blazin' coal, 

An' w'en he ope hees mout' 
He growla like you theenk hees soul 

Ees turna eenside out. 
He eesa gat so stronga den 

An' swell so big an' fat, 
Eet gona taka seexa men 

For justa hold hees hat. 

You oughta see my Uncla Joe 

Wen he ees mad weeth you. 
You bat my life ! den you will know 

I eesa speaka true. 
He gat so strong eenside of heem 

Eet mak' your hearta freeze, 
An' eef he looka at som' cream 

Eet turna eento cheese. 
Den you weell run, you bat my life! 

So fast as you can go. 
An' throw away your gun or knife. 

Ha! strong man, Uncla Joe. 



28 CANZONI 



You oughta see my Uncla Joe! 

Eet w'at you call " surprise." 
Las' night beeg Irish ponch heem so 

Eet close up bot' hees eyes. 
O! my! he eesa looka bad; 

Mus' be ees som'theeng wrong, 
Baycause w'en Uncla Joe ees mad 

He always been so strong. 
I guess dees Irish heet his blow 

So queecka an' so rough 
He no geeve time to Uncla Joe 

For gatta mad enough. 



CANZONI 29 



THE " OUCHES " 

THE " Ouches " is the queerest crew 
On earth, or anywhere. 
They al'ays live inside o' you 

An' you don't know they're there. 
For jist as long as you are nice 

An' good as you kin be 
They'll stay as quiet an' still as mice, 

Fur they're asleep, ye see. 
But sometimes when you git a bump 

'At makes you kind 0' mad, 
It wakes an Ouch! an' out he'll jump, 

An' 'at's a sign you're bad. 

Most Ouches makes your throat their home. 

Or, leastways, one appears 
Right there when mother starts to comb 

Your hair or wash your ears. 
An' funny thing about 'em, too, 

My mother tells about, 
An Ouch can't do no harm in you 

If you don't let it out. 
So if you really truly care 

To be the boy you should, 
Jist shut your mouth an' keep 'em there, 

An' 'at's a sign you're good. 



30 CANZONI 



FATHER DAN O'MALLEY 

WHIN Father Dan O'Malley came as curate 
to St. Ann's, 
iThere was work in Dublin Alley layin' ready to 

his han's. 
Aye! 'twas work o' sich a nature that no common 

man could do, 
Fur, indade, the only t'acher that the Alley gos- 
soons knew 
Was the Divil that was lurkin' in the badness of 

their hearts, 
And it's never aisy wurkin' fur to strive agin his 

arts. 
But although he's cute, fur, sure, it is the Divil's 

trade to schame, 
Ye can trust an Irish curate fur to bate him at his 

game. 
There was little dilly-dally in the layin' out of 

plans 
Whin Father Dan O'Malley came as curate to 

St. Ann's. 

Now, the trouble jisht was layin' in the fact that 
as a rule 



CANZONI 31 



The gossoons thought more of playin' than of 

goin' to Sunda' school. 
Ev'ry plisant Sunda' mornin', faith, ye'd find thim 

at their game, 
Nor could any threat or warnin' make thim feel a 

sinse 0' shame. 
An' of all the little divils that desp'iled the holy 

day, 
The ringleader of their rivvels was that rascal, 

Paddy Shea. 
He could set a top a-spinnin' till ye'd think 

'twould never stop. 
An' the marbles he was winnin' would have aisy 

stocked a shop. 
Not a soul in Dublin Alley 'd won a vict'ry from 

his ban's 
Till Father Dan O'Malley came as curate to St. 

Ann's. 



Father Dan was big an' jolly, wid a heart that 

filled his chist, 
An' a smile that it was folly fur ye tryin' to resist. 
Well, it took a bare half-hour of one Sunda' morn 

in May 
Fur to dimonstrate his power over roguish Paddy 

Shea. 



32 CANZONI 



Though the bells had rung their rally to the 

Sunda' school, the hall 
Showed no lad of Dublin Alley had appeared at 

all, at all. 
Father Dan wint out a-gunnin' fur the rogues 

that stayed away, 
An' the rascals started runnin', but he captured 

Paddy Shea. 
Thin it was that Dublin Alley passed from out the 

Divil's han's, 
Fur Father Dan O'Malley now was curate at St. 

Ann's. 

"Now, me boy," sez he to Paddy, " you're the 

champeen player here, 
So you'll play wid me, me laddie, jisht to make 

yer title clear; 
Is it marbles ye've been playin'? Well, we'll 

start again to play. 
But you'll bend yer knees to prayin' whin I've 

licked ye, Paddy Shea. 
Come along, you rogue! Your luck'll not avail 

ye now to win. 
Whisht! More power to me knuckle, 'tis the 

Church's work it's in." 
From the very first beginnin' Father Dan out- 
played the lad. 



C A N Z O N I 33 



An' he wasn't long in winnin' ev'ry marble that 

he had. 
After that the Dublin Alley lads was putty in 

the han's 
Of Father Dan O'Malley, who is curate at St. 

Ann's. 

So the Sunda' school is crowded to the doors this 

blessed day, 
Fur the lads had lost their marbles to the skill of 

Paddy Shea, 
An' the leader o' the Alley has in turn thro wed up 

his han's 
To Father Dan O'Malley, who is curate at St. 

Ann's. 



34 CANZONI 



CONTENT 

ALONG about this time o' year, 
. The while I set a-blinkin' 
In the warm sunshine here, 

I always git to thinkin' 
The old farm ain't so bad a place, 

But what I feel some pity 
Fur the dumb fools thet's in the race 

Fur gold down in the city. 
You don't ketch me a-praying God 

To better my position. 
I only want my fishin'-rod 

An' time to go a-fishin'. 
I got a shirt, a pair o' pants. 

Coat, hat, an' appetite; 
I know the fish, an' all their ha'nts 

An' when they're like to bite. 
An' all the clo'es I want is what 

Will keep off chill an' shiver. 
While I'm a-settin' in this spot — 

The best along the river. 
Ketch me a-combin' of my hair 

An' wear in' cuffs an' collars! 
I wouldn't be a millionaire 

Fur seven hundred dollars! 



CANZONI 35 



W'AT'SA USE? 

W'AT'SA use for gattin' mad 
Jus' baycause you feela bad? 
You gon' feela worse an' worse 
Eef you gona stop an' curse 
Evra time ees som'theeng wrong. 
You no gotta leeve so long. 
Wan, two, free, four year, bimeby, 
Mebbe so you gona die. 
So ees best from day to day 
Maka sunshine weetha hay. 
Don't be gattin' madda while 
You can hava time to smile. 
W'at'sa use? 

Padre Smeeth he tal me, too, 
Justa like I tal to you. 
Wan day he ees say, " Hallo ! 
W'at ees mak' you growla so? 
Evra time you gatta mad 
Eet ees mak' Diablo glad. 
Justa laugh an' don'ta care, 
Den you mak' Diablo swear." 
Smila now an' den bimeby 



36 CANZONI 



You can smila w'en you die. 
Growla now an' you weell yal 
Weeth Diablo down een— wal 
W'at'sa use? 



CANZONI 37 



KISS HER 

SAY, young man! if you've a wife, 
Kiss her. 
Every morning of your life, 

Kiss her. 
Every evening when the sun 
Marks your day of labor done, 
Get you homeward on the run — 
Kiss her! 

Even though you're feeling bad, 

Kiss her. 
If she's out of sorts and sad, 

Kiss her. 
Act as if you meant it, too; 
Let the whole true heart of you 
Speak its ardor when you do 

Kiss her. 

If you think it's " soft," you're wrong. 

Kiss her. 
Love like this will make you strong. 

Kiss her. 
If you'd strike with telling force 
At the Evil of Divorce, 
Just adopt this simple course: 

Kiss her. 



38 CANZONI 



DEAR UNSELFISH DAN 

MOST every one that knowed our Dan 
Agreed he was the kindest man 
They ever see. He had the knack 
Of takin' on his own broad back 
The burdens an' the slaps and pokes 
Belonged by rights to other folks. 
If any one was in distress 
An' went to Dan, he'd say: " I guess 
We'll pull you out all right; let's see, 
Suppose you leave all that to me." 

Was nothin' finer than the way 
He cared for poor old Uncle Jay, 
Who was the most unlucky han' 
For havin' trouble with his Ian' 
'Bout taxes, or the early spring 
Plowin', or some other thing 
That plumb upsot the poor old man. 
Then, in the nick o' time, our Dan 
Steps in, and sez, " Don't fret," sez he, 
" Suppose you leave all that to me." 

It got to be that Uncle Jay 
He couldn't git along no way 
Without our Dan, an' our Dan he 



CANZONI 39 



Jest cared fur him unselfishly. 
An' when the old man come to die 
Our Dan, o' course, was right close by. 
Sez Uncle Jay: "I'm worrit, Dan, 
'Bout what's to come of all my Ian' 
An' all my money out at loan. 
An' in the bank, when I am gone." 
Then Dan, he ups an' sez, sez he: 
" Suppose you leave all that to me." 



40 CANZONI 



HER ANSWER 

DEAR Nell," he wrote, " these violets 
I've made so bold to send to you 
Shall be my mute ambassadors; 

And each shall tell how deep and true 
The sender's love is, craving yours 

For him. What messengers more meet? 
Are they not typical of you, 
They are so sweet? " 

" Dear Jack," she wrote, " your violets 
Have just this moment been received. 

Their message took me by surprise, 
'Twas something scarce to be believed. 

I send my answer back with them ; 
What fitter messengers for you? 

So typical of how you'll feel — 
They are so blue! " 



CANZONI 41 



KITTY'S GRADUATION 

DUBLIN ALLEY jisht was crazy, jubilation 
was the rule, 
Chewsday week whin Kitty Casey won the honors 

at the school. 
Sure, the neighbors had been waitin', all impa- 
tient of delay, 
For to see her graduatin' on that most important 

day, 
Eddication is a power, an' we owned wid one 

accord 
Casey's girl's the sweetest flower ever blossomed 

in the ward, 
Whin, wid dress white as the daisy, but wid 

cheeks that shamed the rose. 
We beheld wee Kitty Casey in her graduation 

clo'es. 

Now, this Casey loved his daughther in a most in- 
dulgent way. 

An' he spent his gold like wather for her grad- 
uation day. 

Sich a dale of great preparin'! Sure, ye'd think 
she was a bride; 

Sorra hair was Casey carin' for a blessed thing 
beside. 



V TANZUNI 



l"«H \\\\\\\ i\iM\v on> V' n>\\>i\\i\»iv,'^, faith, he nlvt^r 
An' h«^ <hv?irk»Hl hri Ukf » \MimYH!i »t » I'omutttion 
A»\' 'l\Vi>«« Mvi^liuwe Udnt^tte Tut V for ^hosstimker 
V\\t \\^ rtt out Kttly r»5*t^,v In Ut^r K«»*^»»^tlou 



(^1 vht'N'.nukrr^. wow. tho *slvlor4 \\a<i thv. vm\c 

th,U ('Asi^yM H\^t» 
b\Mr ht^v hill ht\\^l?i < {UU^I hfv '' M^nllnt*^ " thvuigh 

*' Uut»** 5»<>« Ctt*«>,v» '' \ Km ^\aW W fvvr to |\a,v a 
few iwoiv oiuts, 

of i>i|\h\!*e," 

h,ivt^ the * ?»j\\\xlr f<*lr/ " 
^' Aa l\»r thi^t»" se« i^^!*e\\ *' ln»,Y it. wiv\ the v^thei 

thi»v^?i jihe'U wtN^r," 
Sv^ yt> *t^ the u\i^u wa* crafv tW to ,«rt tt\e l>est 

tKit ^\>e.H 
J*\Mr hU Uttte K\u,v la-vv »\v her )ir;ulvuitK>J\ 



CANZONI 43 



All the women jisht were itchin' for to see her 
gettin' dressed, 

Some were crowded in the kitchen an' the stair- 
way, while the rest. 

The most favored ones, wint rushin' to the livin' 
room above. 

Where stood Mrs. Casey blushin' wid a mother's 
pride an' love. 

" Oh! " sez she, " 'twould be a pity if I couldn't 
schame an' plan 

So that Kitty'd look as pritty as Mag Ryan's 
Mary Ann." 

" Tut! ye needn't be onaisy," sez a neighbor. 
" Goodness knows, 

There'll be none like Kitty Casey in her grad- 
uation clo'es." 

An' tliere's really no denyin', whin they marched 

into the hall 
Kitty Casey pushed the Ryan girl complately to 

the wall. 
Whin she made her prize oration an' they gave 

her her degree. 
There was sich a dimonstration as ye'll niver live 

to see. 
For the men from Dublin Alley voiced their feel- 
in 's in a cheer 



44 CANZONI 



Like they utther whin they rally in a Dimmy- 

cratic year, 
An' of Casey's proudest days he counts that best 

of all he knows 
Which beheld his Kitty Casey in her graduation 

clo'es. 



C A N Z O N I 45 



AN ITALIAN KING 

I AM so good for evratheeng 
I oughta be electa Keeng! 
Ees no som'body else at all 
So strong like me, so beeg, so tall, 
An' no som'body else can do 
So greata theengs like I can, too. 
How mooch you try you no can be 
So fina bigga man like me. 
You bat my life! I oughta gat 
A crown for wear eenside my hat, 
An' makin' all da style I can, 
Baycause I am so granda man. 
All dees ees true. Eh? how I know? 
My leetla boy he tal me so. 

You maka fun weeth me an' tease. 
An' call me " Dago " eef you please; 
An' mebbe so I what you call 
" No good for anytheeng at all," 
An' you weell theenk you speaka true 
Baycause eet looka so to you. 
Wal, mebbe som' time you are right, 
But not w'en I gat home at night. 



46 CANZONI 



Ha! dat'sa time dat I am Keeng 
An' I am good for evratheeng! 
I know; baycause Patricio, 
My leetla boy, he tal me so. 



CANZONI 47 



DA PRITTA LADY 



EES playnta reecha ladies com' 
By dees peanutta-stan' ; 
I like to watcha dem, for som' 

Ees looka justa gran'. 
Day got so fina hat an' dress, 

An' evratheeng so clean, 
Most any Keeng be proud, I guess, 

For calla one hees Queen. 
Beeg Irish cop say: " Looka datl 

I tal you she's a peach! 
Dat's kinda wife a man can gat 

Eef he ees only reech." 
I theenk of Angela, my wife, 

An' weesha: " My, O! my, 
Eef she like dat, you bat my life, 

I would be satisfi'." 

But den I theenk, su'pose my wife 

Was beautiful like dees; 
I would be frighten of my life 

To aska her for keess. 
I would be scare' to hug her so 

Like w'at I always do 
To Angela, baycause, you know, 

She mebbe bust in two. 



48 CANZONI 

Baysides, my Angela she gat 

My baby at her breas'; 
Eat mighta not be lika dat 

Eef she was reech, I guess. 
No reecha lady coulda be 

So pritta eef she try, 
Like Angela ees look to me, 

So I am satisfi'. 



C A N Z O N 1 49 



A FROSTY MORNING 

I LOVE these frosty mornings, 
When all the outer air 
Is tingling with a freshness 
And vim beyond compare. 

The north-wind in the tree-tops 
Proclaims the coming dawn, 

And sends the crisp leaves rattling 
Across the frozen lawn. 

From some adjacent farmyard 

A watchful chanticleer, 
With raucous, joyous crowing 

Assails the atmosphere. 

Then, nearer home, a watchdog, 
Awakened from his sleep, 

Gives voice to his resentment 
In tones prolonged and deep. 

A wagon, bound for market, 
Goes creaking down the road. 

I hear the axles groaning 
Beneath the heavy load. 



50 CANZONI 



The light grows at my window, 

And on the pane, I see, 
Jack Frost has limned a picture 

Of silvery tracery. 

Now, from the servants' stairway, 
Slow feet descend the hall; 

And then a kitchen shutter 
Bangs out against the wall. 

I love, these frosty mornings. 
To note these things, and then — 

To draw the bed-clothes closer. 
And go to sleep again. 



CANZONI 51 



TO THE GROWLER 

BE patient! Be a Christian and forbear 
To objurgate the Weather-man and swear 
Because the sting of winter's in the air. 

Do you remember 
Those days in June, a few short months ago, 
Whose scorching heat oppressed and baked you 

so, 
And made you yearn the blest relief to know 

Of cool September? 
And when September came and in its train 
Brought days of frost and days of sodden rain, 
Good gracious! how you kicked and growled 
again! 

Do you remember? 

Those summer days will soon have come once 

more, 
And you'll forget how bitterly you swore 
At all the winter weather gone before.- 

Will you remember. 
When you are sweltering in mid- July, 
The flakes, frost-feathered, that were wont to fly 
From out the windy reaches of the sky. 

This past December? 



52 CANZONI 



Meantime, if you should die and you should get 
Your just desserts, with O! what vain regret. 
These winter days (because they're cold and wet) 
You will remember! 



CANZONI 53 

THE NATIONAL ENCAMPMENT 

HE'S a-comin', he's a-comin'! 
An' he sets the town a-buzz. 
Though they ain't as many of 'im 

As what they useter wuz. 
He's a-growin' more important 
Jest because he's dyin' out. 
The G. A. R.'s a-comin', 
" Hats off! " along the rout'. 

He's a-comin', he's a-comin'! 

An' a grateful people tries 
To bring the light o' gladness 

To the old-time fighter's eyes. 
So the old flag waves above 'im. 

An' he hears the people shout: 
" The G. A. R.'s a-comin', 

Hats off along the rout'! " 

He's a-marchin', he's a-marchin'! 

There's a reminiscent touch 
Of his bearin' in the " Sixties " 

In the way he slings his crutch, 
As he marches ever onward 

To the last Great Muster-out. 
The G. A. R.'s a-comin'! 

" Hats off! " along the rout'. 



54 CANZONI 



AT CASTLE GARDEN 

HERE'S a whole ship-load of sweet femi- 
ninity — 

Girls of the Sod! 
Faith! but I'm glad to be in the vicinity. 

Here with me hod, 
Mortar and bricks have engaged me this solid 

day. 
O! but I wish I was dressed fur a holiday! 
Wouldn't I show ye the taste of a jolly day, 
Girls of the Sod? 

Let me stand by in this workaday guise of mine, 

Girls of the Sod, 
O ! but the sight of ye moistens these eyes of mine. 

Isn't it odd? 
Maybe the view of yer solemn processional 
Out of the ship, as it were a confessional. 
Carries my heart in a tour retrogressional 

Back to the Sod. 

O! I am thinkin' 'twas jisht a mistake of ye 

L'avin' the Sod. 
All that is best ye have left in the wake of ye, 

There where ye trod 
Fields that were full of the sweetness that's bless- 
in' ye 



CANZONI 55 



Fresh with the breezes so fond of caressin' ye — 
O! but there's many a heart will be missin' ye, 
Girls of the Sod! 

There ye reaped joy if ye only were knowin' it, 

Here 'twill be odd 
If what ye're reapin' will pay ye fur sowin' it, 

Girls of the Sod. 
Arrah! No wonder ye're lookin' so serious. 
This is a country to make ye delirious, 
Toilin' an' moilin' to serve the imperious 

Mammon, its god. 

Listen to me an' I'll have the whole crowd of ye 

Back to the Sod, 
Back to the valleys that love and are proud of ye. 

Girls of the Sod! 
Ireland needs ye, her love that has girt ye there 
Yearns fur ye still an' will I'ave nothin' hurt ye 

there. 
Gold isn't counted like goodness and virtue there. 

Thanks be to God! 

Still if there's wan of ye bent upon tarryin', 

Girls of the Sod, 
Did I not mintion the merits o' marryin' 

I'd be a clod. 



56 CANZONI 

So if ye're needin' the love of a merry man, 
Merry but sober, a dacint young Kerry man, 
Faith, I could whishper the name of the very 
man — 

Give me a nod! 



CANZONI 57 



THE WISDOM OF THE SPARROWS 

TWAS a city sparrow, wise and debonair, 
Idly loafing through the country with his 
mate. 
Stupid country birds were building everywhere, 
For the nesting-time was growing very late, 
But the sparrow, with his lady. 
In a tree-top, cool and shady, 
Gazed with scorn upon the work and twittered: 
"Stuff! " 

To his mate he chirruped shrilly: 
" Isn't all this labor silly. 
When a roosting-place at night is quite enough? " 

'Twas a motherly old robin, near at hand, 

Who was busy at her building with the rest. 
And she turned upon the sparrows to demand 
How they meant to hatch their eggs without a 
nest. 

" Such impertinence! " half sadly 
Said the sparrow; " and yet gladly 
I'll impart to you the knowledge that you beg." 
Then, with haughty condescension. 
He remarked: " I need but mention 
That it's possible to obviate the egg." 



58 CANZONI 



'Twas a congress of the birds of every sort, 
All indignantly assembled to protest 

Their displeasure, when the robin made report 
Of the threatened abolition of the nest; 
And they spoke of it as " awful ! " 
" Selfish," " scandalous," " unlawful," 

And they prophesied " the country's speedy fall." 
But the sparrows, quite disdaining 
All this ignorant complaining, 

Simply went their way, unmindful of it all. 

'Twas a sage old owl, a very solemn bird. 

Sat and listened while his feathered fellows 
fought. 
Never once he oped his mouth to say a word, 
But he did a lot of thinking — and he thought: 
" So the sparrows think it best 
To abolish eggs and nest. 
Well, perhaps the wisdom isn't theirs at all. 
But a plan of good Dame Nature's 
To eliminate such creatures. 
Let them have their way; the loss is mighty 
small." 



CANZONI 59 



THE MODEST COLLEEN 

IF I should sing of " Mary " 
Don't think that that's her name. 
My colleen bawn's conthrary 
And doesn't care for fame. 
She sez 'twould make her fidget 

To see her name in print, 
So I can't sing of — Murther! 
I nearly gev a hint! 

She likes to watch me writin' 

A sonnet to her eyes, 
In poethry recitin' 

The love that in me lies, 
But holds one rosy digit, 

Resthrainin' of me pen. 
For fear I'll mintion — Mushal 

I almost wrote it then. 

So whin the names of Nora, 

An' Nell an' Kate, betimes, 
Or Mary, Rose or Dora 

Are mintioned in me rhymes. 
They mean that modest midget. 

That charmin' little elf. 
Whose name is — O! I'll I'ave ye 

To guess her name yerself. 



6o C A N Z O N I 



THE OLD PARISHIONER 

THE graybeard glories in the past 
And prates of " good old days." 
These times are out of joint, he growls, 

And sneers at modern ways. 
He shakes his head at every move 

That's up-to-date and new, 
And everything you do is just 

The thing you shouldn't do. 
It's: " Mercy save us! Look at that! 

We're slidin' back, I fear. 
The parish isn't what it was 

Whin Father Mack was here." 

" The weddin's now are not as fine 

As weddin's used to be, 
An', faith, they're not so numerous 

At all, at all," says he. 
" Then, christ'nin's, too, were plentiful 

An' carried out wid style; 
'Twould warm your heart to see them there 

A-crowdin' up the aisle. 
An' sermons ! How the crowds would come 

To listen! Dear, O! dear. 
The parish isn't what it was 

Whin Father INIack was here." • 



CANZONI 61 



Yet, from a study of the rolls 
And records, 'twould appear 

The parish claimed but fifty souls 
When Father Mack was here. 



62 C A N Z O N I 



THE " BUILDING INSPECTOR » 

WHEN ground is broken on the site 
For your new church, some busy 
wight 
Is certain to assume the right 
To pose as chief inspector. 
He deems it quite the thing that he 
Should represent the laity, 
And watch the builder's work and see 
He doesn't cheat the rector. 

Of course the whole thing's badly planned, 
He tells you, and you understand 
How good it is that he's at hand 

To check some greater blunder. 
The mortar's bad. He breaks a crumb 
Between his finger and his thumb, 
And shakes his head and murmurs, " Bum! 

Who sold 'em that, I wonder? " 

Thus after church each Sunday morn, 
With mingled pity, grief and scorn, 
He goes about on his forlorn 
Grim duty of inspection. 



CANZONI 63 



But, no, not every Sunday though — 
That statement's not exactly so — 
Some Sundays you take up, you know. 
The building fund collection. 



64 CANZONI 



THE IRISH BACHELOR 

HERE fur yer pity or scorn, I'm presintin' ye 
Jerry McGlone. 
Trustin' the life of him will be previntin' ye 

Marrin' yer own. 
Think of a face wid a permanint fixture of 
Looks that are always suggistin' a mixture of 
Limmons an' vinegar. There! ye've a pixture of 
Jerry McGlone. 

Faix, there is nothin' but sourest gloom in this 

Jerry McGlone. 
Chris'mas joy, anny joy, niver finds room in this 

Crayture of stone. 
Cynical gloom is the boast an' the pride of him, 
An' if a laugh iver did pierce the hide of him, 
Faix, I believe 'twould immajiate, inside of him. 

Change to a groan. 

Whisht! now, an' listen. I'll tell ye the throuble 
wid 

Jerry McGlone. 
He preferred single life rather than double wid 

Molly Malone. 
Think of it! Think of an Irishman tarryin' 



C A N Z O N I 65 



While there's a purty girl wishful fur marryin'I 
Arrahl no wonder the divils are harryin' 
Jerry McGlone. 

Ah! but there's few o' the race but would scorn 
to be 

Jerry McGlone. 
Sure, we all know that a Celt is not born to be 

Livin' alone. 
O! but we're grateful (I spake for the laity) 
Grateful fur women the bountiful Deity 
Dowers wid beauty an' virtue an' gaiety, 

All for our own! 



66 C A N Z O N I 



TO A PLAIN SWEETHEART 

I LOVE thee, dear, for what thou art, 
Nor would I wish thee otherwise, 
For when thy lashes lift apart 

I read, deep-mirrored in thine eyes, 
The glory of a modest heart. 

Wert thou as fair as thou art good. 
It were not given to any man, 

With daring eyes of flesh and blood. 
To look thee in the face and scan 

The splendor of thy womanhood. 



CANZONI 67 



THE CONQUEST 

LAST night the winter's rear-guard passed 
In utter rout through lane and street; 
With faint and fainter bugle-blast 

The North-wind sounded the retreat. 
Far echoes of the stubborn flight 

Crept backward from the distant hill, 
Stray stragglers lurched across the night, 

But soon were gone, and all was still. 
Then vaguely, through the pregnant hush, 

The murmur of a marching host 
Surged swiftly onward as the rush 

Of breakers on a level coast, 
Until up-swelled through lane and street, 

In swift crescendo thundering, 
The drums of Southern rain that beat 

Reveille to the waking Spring. 

O! glad gray army of the South! 

Our sky is your triumphal arch. 
Nor deed of arms nor word of mouth 

Shall here oppose your onward march. 
The little children of the North, 

Long captive to the winter's cold. 
Impatient yearn to sally forth 

And tread the fields of green and gold. 



68 CANZONI 



For, love of life renewed, we greet 
With joy your conquest, welcoming 

Invading drums of rain that beat 
Reveille to the waking Spring. 



CANZONI 69 



A BOOK NOT " GIVABLE " 

I HAVE only poor words to send you in time 
for this Christmas Day; 
My wonted gift of the season must suffer a slight 

delay. 
Though I had what I felt would please you, I 

find that it will not do, 
And I needs must wait till the morrow to pur- 
chase a gift for you. 

I had you in mind this morning. The thought of 

you bade me drop 
My daily cares for the moment and hie to the 

bookman's shop, 
The shop that we haunted so often, down there in 

the little back street. 
In the days when we slaved together over ledger 

and balance-sheet 
And squandered our hard-earned pennies for an 

intellectual treat. 
You remember those shelves in the corner where 

you discovered your Burns 
And I unearthed those treasures of Congreve's, 

Smollett's and Sterne's? 



70 CANZONI 



Well, there's where I looked this morning in 

search of a gift for you, 
And I saw what I thought would please you, but 

I find that it will not do. 

'Twas the title, " She Stoops to Conquer," that 
arrested my roving eye, 

And the make of the volume pleased me and 
prompted me to buy. 

So I tucked it away in my pocket, with only a 
casual look 

To the points that are most essential in a thor- 
oughly " givable " book. 

But to-night in my hearthside leisure, ere posting 
it off to you, 

I imposed on myself the duty to examine it 
through and through. 

I was rather shocked at the cover, and vexed that 
I had not seen 

How the russet calf was mottled with mildew- 
spots of green. 

Then the title-page is rather a trifle the worse for 
wear, 

And it really cost me an effort to read the an- 
nouncement there 

That the book was " printed for Griffiths," and 
the smaller line below: 



CANZONI 71 



" To be had of Timothy Becket in Paternoster 
Row." 

I discover the date of the printing is 1774. 

Was it after the author's exit, I wonder, or be- 
fore? 

The thought that this book had being in the very 
year of his death, 

Perhaps in the very hour that claimed his de- 
parting breath. 

Makes misty the reader's vision and carries the 
fancy back 

To the times and the haunts of the genius, poet 
and bookman's hack. 

What phantasies, sweet and tender, out of that 
golden age, 

March by in the time-dimmed type of the 
quaintly printed page! 



But, pshaw! I am boring you, surely, with this 
sort of folderol; 

You never were partial as I am to " poor old lov- 
able Noll." 

The book's well enough in its fashion, but it 
wouldn't be proper to send 

A thing — well — so battered and shabby as a holi- 
day gift to a friend. 



72 CANZONI 



As I told you, the old leather cover is very much 

mildewed and worn, 
And a few of the pages are dog-eared and others 

are torn. 
I thought at first sight it would please you, but 

I find that it will not do. 
So I needs must wait till the morrow to purchase 

a gift for you. 
IVe only " God-bless-you " to send you in time 

for this Christmas Day, 
But my wonted gift of the season will follow. 

Forgive the delay. 



C A N Z O N I 73 



DA MUSICA MAN 

YOU knowa Giovanni, da musica man? 
He playa da harpa, he playa pian', 
For maka da mona wherevra he can. 
Da styleesha peopla dey geeve heem da chance 
For maka da music for helpa dem dance. 

He playa da music so gooda, so gran', 
He tal me, da ladies dey calla heem " sweet " 
An' geeve heem da playnta good fooda for eat. 
I like be Giovanni, da musica man. 

Giovanni, da musica man, he ees fat, 
An' sleepy an' lazy so lika da cat. 
So moocha da dreenkin' an' eatin' he gat. 
I gotta da music eensida my heart; 
I weesh I have also da musical art 

For mak' eet com' outa my heart like he can. 
An' filla my stomach weeth fooda for eat. 
I digga da tranch; I work hard on da street — 

I like be Giovanni, da musica man. 



74 CANZONI 



THE " MODERATE DRINKER " 

I HONOR more the merry wight 
Who, though he curbs his appetite, 
Still takes a social beaker, 
Than any Prohibition crank 
Who prates about the " water-tank." 
I hate a temperance speaker. 

So, come, lift up a brimming cup 

To all who've wit to use it. 
And let it be our boast that we 

May use but not abuse it. 

Kind Nature brings her gift of wine 

That Thought may glow, that Wit may shine, 

And shall we then reject her? 
'Tis true the sodden sot's a beast, 
But he's a death's-head at the feast 

Who will not touch the nectar. 

Once more! Lift up a brimming cup 

To all who've wit to use it. 
And let it be our boast that we 

May use but not abuse it. 



CANZONI 75 

What need to men of common sense 
Is any " total abstinence "? 

There's shimply nothin' to it. 
What harm to use th' good ole stuff 
If you (hie) shtop when you've enough? 

That'sh way that I (hie) do it. 

Whoopla! fill up a brimmin' cup 

To all (hie) wit t' ushe it. 
(Hie) let (hie) be ou' boash (hie) we 

(Wow!!) ushe (whoop!) not (hie) 'buzheit. 



76 CANZONI 



DA 'MERICANA GIRL 

IGATTA mash weeth Mag McCue, 
An' she ees 'Mericana, too! 
Ha! w'at you theenk? Now, mebbe so, 
You weell no calla me so slow 
Eef som' time you can looka see 
How she ees com' an' flirt weeth me. 
Most evra two, free day, my frand. 
She stops by dees peanutta-stand 
An' smile an' mak' da googla-eye 
An' justa look at me an' sigh. 
An' alia time she so excite' 
She peeck som' fruit an' taka bite. 
O! my, she eesa look so sweet 
I no care how much fruit she eat. 
Me? I am cool an' mak' pretand 
I want no more dan be her frand; 
But een my heart, you bat my life, 
I theenk of her for be my wife. 

To-day I theenk: "Now I weell see 
How moocha she ees mash weeth me," 
An' so I speak of dees an' dat. 
How moocha playnta mon' I gat, 
How mooch I makin' evra day 



CANZONI 77 



An' w'at I spand an' put away. 

An' den I ask, so queeck, so sly: 

" You theenk som' pretta girl weell try 

For lovin' me a leetla beet? " — 

O! my! she eesa blush so sweet! — 

"An' eef I ask her lika dees 

For geevin' me a leetla keess, 

You s'pose she geeve me wan or two? " 

She tal me: " Twanty-t'ree for you! " 

An' den she laugh so sweet, an' say: 

" Skeeddoo! Skeeddoo! " an' run away. 

She like so mooch for keessa me 

She gona geeve me twanty-t'ree! 

I s'pose dat w'at she say — " skeeddoo "— 

Ees alia same " I lova you." 

Ha! w'at you theenk? Now, mebbe so 

You weell no calla me so slow! 



78 CANZONI 



FAINT HEART 

I WONDER if she knows how much 
My heart cries out for her dear heart. 
I wonder if she's felt the touch, 
The joyous thrill, the bitter smart 
Of Cupid's dart. 
I wonder. 

I wonder what she'll say to me 
When I have told my tale to-night. 

O! will it be my fate to be 
Transported to the sun-kissed height 
Of sheer delight? 
I wonder. 

I wonder if I'll tell my tale 
At all! I've often tried before. 

By Jove! I feel my courage fail. 
And here, a timid mouse once more, 
On past her door 
I wander. 



CANZONI 79 



BALLADE OF FAMILY NAMES 

CHANGE is the order in man's estate, 
Times have changed and the customs, too; 
Everything now must be up-to-date. 
Things old-fashioned will never do. 
Even the names that our fathers knew — 
Jonas, Zachary, Zebedee — 

Fashion adjures us we must eschew. 
What will the names of To-morrow be? 

Patronymics with frills ornate, 
Out of the roots of the old names grew. 

" Kathryn " cooed in the arms of " Kate," 
" Hugo " Hsped at the knees of " Hugh." 
Nursery walls of the wealthy few 

Rang with titles of high degree, 
All affecting the blood that's blue — 

What will the names of To-morrow be? 

Greater changes have come of late; 

Even these new names fade from view. 
Wife and husband no more debate 

Titles fitting their infant crew. 

Even the infants lie perdue. 



8o C A N Z O N I 



'' Fido," " Rover " and " Tige "—Ah! me, 

These are the names that the maids halloo. 
What will the names of To-morrow be? 

ENVOY 

Man, it is sad, but alas! it's true. 
Fashion's killing your family tree. 

If but a little bark's left to you, 
What will the names of To-morrow be? 



CANZONI 8i 



DA STYLEESHA LADY 

ITAL you w'at, you oughta see 
Carlotta, dat's my girl, w'en she 
Ees feex' for holiday. I guess 
You nevva see sooch styleeshness. 
She gotta yallow seelka skirt 
Ees look so fine you theenk ees wort' 
'Bout twanty dollar, mebbe more, 
Eef you gon' buy eet een da store. 
So, too, she gotta purpla wais' 
Dat's treem' weeth pretta yallow lace, 
An' bigga golda breasta-peen 
Ees steeckin' ondraneat' her cheen. 
Eh? Wait, my frand! On toppa dat 
She got da beega redda hat 
Weeth coupla featha, brighta green, 
An' whita rosa een baytween. 
Da redda, whita, green, you see, 
Ees lika flag of Italy! 

Ha! w'at you theenka dat for style? 
Ah! yes, my frand, eet mak' you smile; 
You can eemagine, den, of me, 
How proud I smile w'en first I see. 
You can baylieve how proud I feel 
For walkin' out weeth her; but steell 



82 CANZONI 



I gatta — w'at you call — " deestress " 
Baycause for all dees styleeshness. 
You see, w'en she ees look so sweet 
I 'fraid for let her on da street. 
I justa feela scare' dat som' 
Beeg reecha man ees gona com' 
An' see how styleesh she can be, 
An' steala her away from me. 



CANZONI 83 



ALMOST 

" fTT^HERE stands the parson's house," he said. 

A The maiden hung her modest head, 
Lest he who thus was moved to speak 
Should note the blush that dyed her cheek. 
The moonlit fields, the sky above, 
Were mutely eloquent of love; 
And love surcharged the ambient air 
Breathed in by this young rustic pair. 
With beating hearts, across the road, 
They saw the minister's abode. 
The study lamp a welcome gleamed. 
And, through the summer twilight, seemed 
Inviting them to near the door. 
" There stands the parson's house! " Once more 
His fervid thoughts broke forth in speech. 
Then silence, thrilling each to each. 
Surrounded them and held them mute. 
Far-off they heard an owlet hoot 
" To whit! to woo! " The maiden's heart 
Was warm for him, but hers the part 
To modestly await the word 
That she in fancy oft had heard. 
And which, instinctively she knew. 
Was trembling on his tongue. He, too, 



84 CANZONI 

Was conscious of his own love's strength, 

And meant to speak. He said, at length: 

" There stands the parson's house, and there — " 

His hand a-tremble cleft the air — 

" Is where it used to stand! " And then 

He led her down the road again. 



CANZONI 85 



CAREY, THE KILL-JOY 

IF ye iver see Timothy Carey 
Jisht trust to the speed o' yer heels. 
Take warnin' from Malachy Cleary — 
That's me, an' I know how it feels. 
If ye're bint on revivin' yer nature 

Wid innocint pleasure, me boy, 
Get out 0' the way o' this crayture — 
His thrade is the killin' o' joy. 

Now, wan day whin I sat at me dinner, 

Wid hunger enough an' to spare. 
In walks this same gloomy ould sinner 

An' leans on the back o' me chair. 
" Come an' jine me," sez I; " I'd be hatin' 

Mesel' fur the glutton I am 
To deny ye this taste o' good 'atin' — 

'Tis luscious b'iled cabbage an' ham! " 

" Man alive! are ye crazy? " sez Carey, 
An' frowns in his soberest way, 

" Sure an' have ye furgot, Misther Cleary, 
That this is a fasht-day th'-day? " 



86 CANZONI 



An' wid that the ould joy-killin' sinner 
Jisht turned on his heel an' wint out, 

An' he left me me illigant dinner 
Like ashes, stone-cowld, in me mout'. 

'Twas a sin o' me, bein' forgetful; 

I should have remimbered the day, 
But I couldn't help feelin' regretful 

To see me feast fadin' away; 
For 'twas not for me soul's sake that Carey 

Shpoke up, but 'twas jisht to annoy. 
'Tis his nature that's mane an' conthrary — 

His thrade is the killin' o' joy. 



CANZONI 87 



A LESSON IN POLITICS 

I NO care for gattin' meex' 
Een dees Ceety politeecs. 
I no gatta vote, an' so 
I no weeshin' mooch to know 
W'eech side right an' w'eech side wrong: 
I no bother mooch so long 
Dey no bother mooch weeth me — 
I jus' want do beez'ness, see? 

I no like poleecaman 
Com' to dees peanutta-stan', 
Like he do most evra day, 
Jus' for talka deesa way: 
" Wal, my frand, I tal you w'at, 
Politeecs ees gattin' hot. 
Don't you mind all deesa queer 
Talka 'bout da ' Graft ' you hear. 
Notheeng een eet! " (Here he tak' 
Bigga pieca geenger cak'.) 
" Dees ' Reforma ' mak' me seeck! 
Sucha foolish theengs dey speak! 
All dees ' graft ' ees een deir eye." 
(Now he taka pieca pie.) 
" I been een dees politeecs 
Seexa year an' know da treecks, 



88 CANZONI 



But I tal you I ain't met 
Any kinda grafta yet." 
(Here he taka two banan'.) 
" Evra publeec office man 
Worka for a salary 
Jus' da sama lika me. 
We no want no more dan dat — 
Jus' contant weeth w'at we gat." 
(Den he tak' weeth botha hand 
Som' peanutta.) " So, my frand, 
Don't baylieva all dees queer 
Talka 'bouta ' graft ' you hear." 



Nutta, caka, pie, banan', 
All for wan poleecaman! 
Mebbe ees no " grafta " — say! 
W'at ees " grafta," anyway? 



CANZONI 89 



MISTLETOE AND HOLLY 

THE mistletoe is gemmed with pearls, 
Red berries hath the holly. 
Remember, all ye modest girls, 
The mistletoe is gemmed with pearls, 
And when it hangs above your curls. 

Away with melancholy! 
The mistletoe is gemmed with pearls, 
Red berries hath the holly. 

Since mistletoe is hard to find. 

We do not need it, MoUie. 
O! do, I beg of you, be kind; 
Since mistletoe is hard to find, 
Pretend that you are color-blind 

And kiss beneath this holly. 
Since mistletoe is hard to find, 

We do not need it, Mollie. 



go CANZONI 

HANDICAPPED 

EEF I could talka 'Merican 
Like w'at I can Italian, 
So stronga langwadge eet would be 
You would be scare' for joke weeth me. 
Een Italy I am so queeck 
For theenk of sassy theengs to speak, 
Wen som' wan makin' fun weeth me, 
Dat nexta time dey let me be. 
Da professori from da school 
Som' time was try for mak' me fool; 
Ah! wal, dey find, you bat my life. 
My tongue ees sharpa like da knife. 
So, evra wan was 'fraid weeth me 
Wen I am home, een Napoli. 
But een New Yorka Ceety here 
Ees deefferant; an' eet ees queer! 
Da streeta keed, so tough, so small, 
He ees no scare' weeth me at all. 
He talk to me so sharp, so queeck 
My tongue ees gat too twist' for speak; 
He mak' da face an' laugh, an' den 
Ees gat me tangla up agen. 
Wen he ees two, free blocks away, 
I theenk of som'theeng sharp to say 



CANZONI 91 



Dat mak' heem stop from be so tough — 
Eef I have say eet queeck enough. 

Wal, mebbe eet ees better so, 
Baycause eef soocha keed could know 
How sharpa tongue ees een my head 
He be so scare' he droppa dead! 



92 CANZONI 



A FANCY NICOTIAN 

TIME was, my love, ere you came as queen 
To this bachelor heart of mine, 
I bowed to the princess of Nicotine, 

Who dwelt in an amber shrine. 
And there, when I willed, her heart glowed red 

And her languorous spirit rose. 
And my soul followed where her soul led, 

Away from the world of prose. 
To a world rerisen from out of the shade 

Of ages passing belief. 
Where she was again a Delaware maid 

And I was a Huron chief. 

I had made a journey to seek her hand, 

I had come from the inland seas, 
Far down to the Big Salt Water's strand 

Where clustered her tribe's tepees. 
And thither I brought a hundred pelts 

Of the beasts my arm had slain, 
And beaded garments and wampum belts. 

That my love-quest be not vain. 
Then her people said: " It is meet indeed! 

The eagle shall mate with the dove." 
O ! their little hearts they were drunk with greed. 

But hers was big with love. 



CANZONI 93 



When into my hand she slipped her own, 

And our souls thrilled each to each, 
My full heart clogged my throat like a stone 

And robbed my tongue of speech. 
But faith burns fervid and hope is high' 

In the heart of a loving maid. 
And reading but joy in her lover's eye 

She follows him, unafraid. 
Beasts of the forest there were, and men, 

To harry our path with strife. 
But her love gave me the strength of ten. 

We were masters of love and life. 

All this, my love, was before you came 

To brighten this life of mine. 
But still I dream when the touch of flame 

Enkindles that amber shrine; 
And the fragrant spirit of Nicotine, 

In circles my head above. 
Discloses ever the self-same scene, 

The picture of world-old love, 
That world rerisen from out of the shade 

Of ages passing belief; 
But now it is thou art the Delaware maid 

When I am the Huron chief. 



94 CANZONI 



UN LAZZARONE 

SO lazy man I nevva see 
Like Joe Baratt' een Napoli. 
you no could mak' heem work at all; 
Een Napoli he w'at you call 
" Un lazzarone "; dat' sa " bum." 
No gotta job, no gotta home, 
No gotta weesh for maka mon', 
But jus' for seetin' een da sun. 
So lazy, good-for-notheeng, O! 
Da worsta wan ees deesa Joe. 
You say " Gelato, Joe? " to heem — 
" Gelato " ees da same " ice-cream " — 
He ope' hees eyes a leetla beet 
Baycause he ees so fond of eet, 
An' den he ope' hees mout' so wide 
An' wait for you to put eenside. 
He weell no tak' da deesh of cream, 
But so you gona feeda heem! 
So lazy man I nevva see 
Like Joe Baratt' een Napoli ! 
I no can tal how eet should be, 
But deesa Joe he cross da sea 
An' com' Noo York last' Fall, you know, 
Wen evratheeng ees ice an' snow. 
Ees nevva so disgusta man 



CANZONI 95 



Like Joe Baratt' w'en he ees Ian'. 
Oh! my! he sheever, shake an 'sneeze, 
An' he mus' dance for keep from freeze. 
So lively man I nevva see 
Like Joe Baratt' from Napoli! 
An' now he work for stevedore 
Like w'at he nevva do bayfore, 
Baycause he needa mon', so he 
Can gat back home een Napoli, 
For sleepin' een da sunshine w'en 
Da weenter-time ees com' agen. 
So lively man you nevva see 
Like Joe Baratt' from Napoli. 



96 CANZONI 



BEDFELLOWS 

AIN'T no one so glad as me 
When they's lady-company 
Comes to visit us an' stay 
All that night until it's day. 
Ain't much sleepin'-room at all 
In our house — it's made so small — 
But my Pa he'll always 'low 
We kin " double-up somehow." 
'Nen when all my prayers is said 
Ma she tucks me into bed 
'Way 'way over on one side. 
'Nen I feel real satisfied 
To be sleepy an' to go 
Right spang off, because I know 
When I wake fust thing I'll see 
Will be Pa in bed with me. 
'Nen for fun! I tell you what, 
'At's the time I have a lot. 
I jist crawl on Pa an' shake 
His ole head till he's awake. 
Fust he'll lay real still an' play 
He's asleep an' goin' to stay. 
'Nen he'll raise up in the air. 
Growl an' cut up like a bear 
Come to eat me up, an' I 



CANZONI 97 



Laugh an' squeal an' yell. O my! 
We jist run things, me an' Pa, 
Havin' lots o' fun, till Ma, 
In the next room, sez: " You boys 
Best git dressed an' quit that noise.'* 
I wisht every night 'at we 
Might have lady-company. 



98 CANZONI 



THOSE DIRTY LITTLE FINGERS 

FROM the moment he could stand alone and 
toddle 
Across the bed-room floor from chair to chair, 
There was never any respite for his mother; 
He was getting into mischief everywhere. 
There were somersaults distracting down the 
stairway, 
And tumbles off the sofa, to be sure. 
And the bumps he got were really quite terrific. 

But none a mother's kisses couldn't cure. 
He'd a most plebeian fondness for the kitchen. 

Whose precincts were his favorite retreat. 
And the coal-hod held for him a fascination. 

For he seemed to think its contents good to eat. 
But the thing that caused his mother's greatest 
worry, 
And made her ply her house-cloth o'er and o'er, 
Was his subsequent invasion of the parlor 
With his grimy little fingers on the door. 

How the whiteness of the paint was desecrated 
By those dirty little digits every day; 

Though his weary mother wept and begged and 
scolded 
He pursued the even tenor of his way. 



CANZONI 99 



It was evident that he was only happy 

When his fingers held their share and more of 
dirt; 
And the only thing he loathed was soap and water, 

And O! my goodness gracious! how that hurt. 
But it hurts us now to contemplate the cleanness 

Of everything about this quiet place; 
All the finger-marks that used to mar the wood- 
work 

Have disappeared, nor left the slightest trace. 
For the last of them were wiped away last sum- 
mer, 

Glad summer that is gone forevermore! 
We are lonely, Lord, and hungering to see him. 

With his grimy little fingers on the door. 



loo CANZONI 



DA YOUNGA 'MERICAN 

IIvIYSAL', I feela strange 
Een dees countra. I can no 
Mak' mysal' agen an' change 

Eento 'Merican, an' so 
I am w'at you calla me, 

Justa " dumb ole Dago man." 
Alia same my boy ees be 

Smarta younga 'Merican. 
Twalv' year ole! but alia same 

He ees learna soocha lot 
He can read an' write hees name — 

Smarta keed? I tal you w'at! 

He no talk Italian; 

He say: " Dat's for Dagoes speak, 
I am younga 'Merican, 

Dago langwadge mak' me seeck." 
Eef you gona tal heem, too, 

He ees " leet^a Dago," my! 
He ees gat so mad weeth you 

He gon' ponch you een da eye. 
Mebbe so you gona mak' 

Fool weeth heem — an' mebbe not. 
Queeck as flash he sass you back; 

Smarta keed? I tal you w'at! 



CANZONI loi 



He ees moocha 'shame' for be 

Meexa weeth Italian; 
He ees moocha 'shame' of me — 

I am dumb ole Dago man. 
Evra time w'en I go out 

Weetha heem I no can speak 
To som'body. " Shut your mout'," 

He weell tal me pretta queeck, 
" You weell geeve yoursal' away 

Talkin' Dago lika dat; 
Try be 'Merican," he say — 

Smarta keed? I tal you w'at! 

I am w'at you calla me, 
Justa " dumb ole Dago man;" 

Alia same my boy ees be 
Smarta younga 'Merican. 



I02 C A N Z O N I 



NIGHT IN BACHELOR'S HALL 

THEY'VE gone away! It seems a year, 
Aye! weeks of years, since they were here; 
And yet it was but yesterday 
I kissed them when they went away, 
Away from all the scorching heat 
That grips this brick-walled city street. 
And it was I who bade them go, 
Though she, dear heart, protested so, 
And vowed I'd find no joy at all, 
Nor any peace, in Bachelor's Hall. 
I laughed at that, but she was right; 
I never knew a sadder night 
Than this, while thus I tread, alone, 
These silent halls I call my own. 
I never thought this place could change 
So utterly and seem so strange. 
The night is hot, and yet a chill 
Pervades the house; it is so still. 

I miss the living atmosphere 
That comforts me when they are here; 
I miss the sigh, long-drawn and deep, 
The music of refreshing sleep. 
That undulates the gentle breast 
Of weary motherhood at rest. 



CANZONI 103 



And in the unaccustomed gloom 
That shrouds the small adjoining room 
I miss the moans, the muffled screams, 
Of childhood troubled in its dreams. 
And is this all? No! more I miss 
The strong, heart-thrilHng joy, the bliss 
Of warding, with protecting arm, 
Between these precious hearts and harm. 

O! sing your song, all ye who roam, 

Your wistful song of " Home, Sweet Home," 

But, though unhappy is your lot. 

You will not find a sadder spot 

In all the world than Home, when they 

Who make it Home have gone away. 



104 CANZONI 



THE INDOMITABLE CELT 

ALTHOUGH the joy's denied to me 
L This blessed " Patrick's Day " 
To be where I would wish to be 

And whistle Care away, 
My mem'ry lives within me still; 

So I may close my eyes 
And fancy I can feel the thrill 

Of spring from Irish skies, 
And make myself believe to-day 

I'm off with my colleen 
To Clogher's, where the pipers play 

" The Wearing of the Green." 

It's cold and drear in this far land. 

And winter's skies are gray, 
And there's no sign that spring's at hand 

This drear St. Patrick's Day. 
But though no shamrocks brave the air 

Of this new home of mine, 
I've found a bit of green to wear — 

This sprig of Northern pine. 
So I'll be joyful as I may. 

And dream of my colleen 
And Clogher's, where the pipers play 

" The Wearing of the Green." 



CANZONI 105 



DA FAM'LY MAN 

IAIN' gon' gatta mad so queeck 
Like w'at I use' to do. 
I gon' geeve up dees ogly treeck 

Of speakin' swear-words, too. 
An' now w'en com'sa badda keed 

For call me " Dago! " — wal, 
I ain' gon' do like w'at I deed 

An' tal heem " gotohal! " 
Eef som' one com' for makin' fool 

Weeth me, I show dem how 
I jus' can smile an' keepa cool — 

I gon' be good man now. 

I am too prouda man to-day 

For wanta swear an' fight, 
An' I no care w'at bad keeds say 

For makin' me excite'. 
So eef som'body com' an' try 

For makin' fool weeth me, 
I justa gon' be dignifi' 

Like fam'ly man should be . 
Las' night da doctor bring my wife 

A baby girl. Dat's how 
I am so proud. You bat my life, 

I gon' be good man now ! 



io6 CANZONI 



DA FIGHTIN' IRISHMAN 

IRISHMAN he mak' me seeckl 
He ees gat excit' so queeck, 
An' so queeck for fightin', too, 
An', baysides, you nevva know 
How you gona please heem. So 
W'ata deuce you gona do? 

Wen I work een tranch wan day, 
Irish boss he com' an' say: 
" Evra wan een deesa tranch, 
I no care eef he ees Franch, 
Anglaice, Dago, Dootch or w'at, 
Evra wan he musta gat 
Leetla pieca green to show 
For da San Patricio. 
Dees ees Irish feasta day. 
Go an' gat som' green! " he say, 
" An' eef you no do eet, too, 
I gon' poncha head on you! " 
So I gat som' green to show 
For da San Patricio. 
Bimeby, 'nudder Irishman 
He ees com' where I am stan'. 
An' he growl at me an' say: 
" Wat you wearin' dat for, eh? 



CANZONI 107 



Mebbe so you theenk you be 
Gooda Irishman like me. 
Green ees jus' for Irishman, 
No for dumb Eyetalian ! 
Tak' eet off! " he say, an', my! 
He ees ponch me een da eye! 

Irishman he mak' me seeck! 
He ees gat excite' so queeck, 

An' so queeck for fightin', too. 
An', baysides, you nevva know 
How you gona please heem. So 

W'ata deuce you gona do? 



io8 C A N Z O N I 



THE SPOILED CHILD 

W'EN Gran'-pa takes me on his knee 
I'm jist as glad as I kin be; 
'Cause he's the bestest friend I got, 
An' in his pockets they's a lot 
Of candies, sugar-cakes an' things 
Like dear ole Gran'-pa always brings. 
An' he'll say: " Now, my little dear. 
Let's see w'at's in this pocket here; " 
And I put in my hand and take 
Some candy out or else some cake. 
'Nen Gran'-pa laughs, an' so do I; 
He'll play he's s'prised an' say: " O! My! 
I wonder how that got in there. 
Now w'at do I git fur my share? " 
I laugh, an' climb right up an' kiss 
Him where his tickly whiskers is. 
He hugs me tight, an' sez: " Oho! 
Here's jist the goodest boy I know." 
An' I am good as I kin be 
Wen Gran'-pa takes me on his knee. 

When Papa takes me on his knee 
I ain't so glad as I might be. 
He ain't as nice as Gran'-pa wuz, 
For he don't do Hke Gran'-pa does. 



CANZONI 109 



He on'y does it w'en he's mad, 
An' w'en he sez I'm awful bad. 
He don't like Gran'-pa's " carryin's-on." 
Fur onct w'en Gran'-pa'd been an' gone 
He told Ma: " Say, it drives me wild 
The way you Pa jist sp'iles that child," 
An' 'nen he maked a grab fur me 
An' upside-downed me on his knee, 
An' says, " Now if it's in the wood 
I'll see if I can't made you good." 
An' w'en Pa let me off his knee 
I promised him how good I'd be. 



no CANZONI 



/ 



DA STYLEESHA WIFE 

GIUSEPPE, da barber, ees catcha da wife! 
O! my, you weell laugh w'en you see w'at 
he gat. 
She gotta da face ees so sharp Hke da knife — 
He say " ees no styleesh for face to be fat." 
Her fingers, so skeenny, ees notheeng but bone; 
You 'fraid dey weell bust w'en you go for shak* 
han'. 
He say: " Dat'sa sign she ees vera high-tone'. 
She no gotta ban's like two bonch da banan'." 
Ha! w'at you theenk dat 
For talk een hees hat? 
W'at good eesa wife eef she don'ta be fat? 

Giuseppe he tal me I no ondrastan' 

Da 'Merican lady so gooda like heem; 
He tal me hees wife ees da " swell 'Merican," 

An' looka so styleesh baycause she ees " sleem." 
I tal heem da " styleeshness " notta so good 

For keepa da house an' for helpin' her mooch 
To nursa da baby an' carry da wood. 

He say: " I no care eef she nevva do sooch." 
Ha! w'at you theenk dat 
For talk een hees hat? 
W'at good eesa wife eef she don'ta be fat? 



CANZONI III 



THE KETTLE'S SONG OF HOME 

AIN'T berry menny people w'at'll listen to a 
niggah, 
Or 'low dey's enny sense in w'at he say, 
But I gwine to gib de 'sperience ob mah feelin's, 
an' I figgah 
Dat dey's quite a smaht ob people t'inks mah 
way. 
Wen a man begins a-shoutin' 'bout de good t'ings 
dat he's missin', 
Kickin' kase dey ain't no fo'tune in his job, 
Let 'im go home to his kitchen, an' set down a 
while an' listen 
To de singin' ob de kittle on de hob. 

De rich man kin inhabitate a palace ef he wishes, 

Wif chiny-war' an' pictuahs on de wall. 
An' kin lay on velvet sofers an' eat off' n golden 
dishes. 
But I wouldn't swap mah kitchen fo' it all. 
Fo' hit wouldn' seem laik home to me, but 'ceptin' 
I could listen, 
A-puffm' at de backy in mah cob, 
While de good Lawd seemed a-speakin' ob a 
home-like kind o' blessin' 
Frough de singin' ob de kittle on de hob. 



112 CANZONI 



TO THE ATHEIST 

SAY! you gat to hal weeth your talk! 
I gotta da troubla my own. 
You please me by taka da walk — 

I wanta for seet here alone. 
Eh? Wat? Yes, I s'pose I am dumb, 

An' so you no maka me wise 
No matter how moocha you com' 

For tryin' to open my eyes. 
Jus' s'posa my eyes dey are blind — 

So blind like you theenk dem to be — 
More beautiful theengs dey can find 

Dan w'at you are able to see. 
You want I should tal you da sight 

I see w'en I seet here alone? 
You wanta for see? Alia right, 

I geeve you my eyes for your own. 
Com', look! dere is beautiful girl, 

So sweeta, so good an' so true; 
Ah! you are a keeng of da worP 

To know dat she smila for you. 

Now, see! she ees geevin' her han' 

Forevra da wifa to be 
To " no-good-for-notheenga " man — 

Dat no gooda man, eet ees me! 



CANZONI 113 



Now — presto! — da peectura change. 

Da beautiful girl eesa gon'; 
Da man ees look olda an' strange 

An' he ees jus' seettin' alone. 
But steell you can see weeth hees eyes, 

So blind, like you say, an' so dumb, 
An angela up in da skies 

Dat smila an' wait teell he com'. 
You sneer; you no gotta belief. 

You tal me we die an' we be 
Like dogs, an' you com' lika thief 

For steala my faitha from me. 
Wal, even eef you no be dam. 

An' eef w'at I see ees no true, 
I radder be dumb like I am 

Dan wisa beeg foola like you! 



114 CANZONI 



AT HOME 

AT home to-night, alone with Dot, 
JTx. I loaf my soul and care not what 

In worlds beyond may come or go. 

Four walls, a roof, to brave the snow, 
Suffice to bound this Eden spot. 

Dot has her sewing things; I've got 
My pipe, a glass of something hot 
And Dot herself. The world's aglow, 
At home to-night. 

As lovers in some golden plot 

The poet weaves of Camelot, 

We feel apart from earth. We know 
The servant in the hall below 

Will say to all who call we're not 
At home to-night. 



CANZONI 115 



TO AN OLD LOVER 

THERE is silvery frost on your hair, old boy, 
There are lines on your forehead, too ; 
But your clear eyes speak of the peace and joy 

That dwell in the heart of you. 
For the passing of youth you have no regret, 

No sighs for the summer gloam 
And the lovers' moon. They are with you yet 
In the light of the lamp at home. 

In your summer of youth, in that sunny hour 

That will come to you never again, 
When you wooed your love as the bee the flower, 

The sweets that you gathered then 
You have hived and stored for your later life, 

And your heart is the honeycomb — 
Ah! I've seen your face when you kissed your 
wife 

In the light of the lamp at home. 

O! you rare old lover! O! faithful knight. 

With your sweetheart of long ago. 
You are many days from the warmth and light 

Of the summers you used to know; 



ii6 CANZONI 



But you need not yearn for the glamor and gold 
Of the fields you were wont to roam^- 

O! the light for the hearts that are growing old 
Is the light of the lamp at home. 



CANZONI 117 



TREASURE-TROVE 

THERE'S a letter come this minute 
From across the boundin' sea, 
And it has a treasure in it 

That delights the soul of me. 
Not a shinin' bit o' gold 
Does this blessed letter hold, 
But a priceless gem as ancient as the world is old. 

'Tis meself, to-morrow mornin'. 

Will be proud to let ye see 
This most precious gem adornin' 

Of the Sunday hat of me. 
'Tis a little sprig o' green 
Of the sort I've often seen 
My grandfather wearin' in his ould caubeen. 

Then here's to the trefoil, 
An' may it grow in free soil 
That knows not the dominion of a Saxon King or 
Queen ; 

The Shamrock of old Erin! 
That the patriot's still wearin' 
Where the whole world may see it, in his ould 
caubeen. 



ii8 CANZONI 



THE LITTLE BOY 

THE little boy Jack was a Jack o' Hearts, 
For every one loved the lad, 
And the birds from near and foreign parts 

Were some of the friends he had. 
The man in the Moon was his friend at night. 

When little Jack's prayers were said, 
And his doting mother had dimmed the light 

And cuddled him up in bed, 
He'd lie and talk to his friend in the skies 

Through the casement open wide. 
And ask if the stars were not the eyes 

Of good little boys who had died. 

O ! the Moon-Man laughed at this odd conceit 

Of his little boy friend on earth. 
And the wee stars, clustered about his feet. 

Just winked at his childish mirth. 
But once when the moon rose over the hill 

And shone on the cottage wall. 
The birds in the neighboring trees were still 

And a gloom hung over all. 
Then the Moon-Man wondered much of Jack, 

And he pondered it o'er and o'er, 
Till he saw two stars in the sky at his back 

That he never had seen before. 



CANZONt 119 



ALL'S WELL 

NOW fared the fight with thee to-day? 
Not well? Ah, nay, 
Thou hast not lost; thou can'st not lose, 
However much they tear and bruise 
The panting breast, the straining thews 

Which are thy spirit's citadel. 
If thou and Faith, upon the walls, 
Are comrades still when darkness falls. 

Rest now! In sleep thy veins shall swell 

With Hope's new wine; and like a bell 
From valleys deep heard on the height. 
Thy 'leagured soul, throughout the night, 

Shall call to thee: " All's well! " 

It is thyself alone that may 

Thyself betray. 
Arise again! Arise and fight! 
God's smile is in the morning light; 
Lift thou thy banner brave and bright 

Above thy spirit's citadel! 
What matter if its fall be sure? 
The pilgrim soul thy walls immure. 

Clinging the wings of Azrael, 



I20 CANZONI 



In face of all the hordes of hell, 
Shall take, full-armed, its homeward flight. 
And o'er thy ruins, from the height, 

Shall call to thee: " All's well! " 



CANZONI 121 



TO A VIOLINIST 

APPLAUSE! A rapturous burst 
^ Spreads downward from the gods, who see 
you first 
As you come bouncing in, 
A little fat, unconscious harlequin. . . . 
Clutching your fiddle in your hand, 
Now in midstage you stand, 
Bobbing and bowing, stiffly, jerkily, 
To left, to right, to left. 

And never for a moment still, 
We, in the stalls, we smile to see 

How droll you look; and even when your deft. 
Quick fingers rouse the charm'd strings to 

your will. 
The laughter, lurking in our lashes still, 
Beats back the elfin voices at our ears. 

How like a boat your violin appears 
As, under lowered lids, our listless eyes 
Watch its alternate rise and fall and rise, 
Where, as the music sways, it seems to be 
Tossed by the tempests on a fairy sea. . . . 
And this strange sense, this sense of finer air 



122 CANZONI 



That, like a tide at flood, is everywhere, 
Bearing up from depths un fathomed voices long 

imprisoned there, 
Voices of the singing birds that flattered unto 

happy tears 
Lovers lingering in the twilights of how many 

thousand years! 
Voices moaning and intoning of old sorrows, 

hopes and fears! 
Sounds of waves on craggy beaches and of winds 

that shout above. 
Melting, dwindle to a murmur, like the cooing of 

the dove. 
Rise again and, waxing stronger, swell into a 

chant of love. 
Round and round the waves of music sweep 

through this enchanted place. 
Catch the souls come forth to listen, trembling on 

each hearer's face, 
Draw them on and whirl them swiftly, lightly 

through the fields of space. 
Till the music and its maker and the hearers are 

as one — 
And the master work is done I 

Applause, spontaneous, springs. 
Pursues you to the wings 



CANZONI 123 

And hales you out once more. 
Encore! Encore! Encore! 
Come back and bow, bow, bow — 
You are not comic now. 



124 CANZONI 



TO THE CITY UNBEAUTIFUL 

THEY are gone! O! implacable City, 
'Twixt a night and a night, 
With no pang of regret or of pity, 

You have slain them outright. 
Though their beauty besought you to spare it, 
To keep it forever and wear it 

For your own and your children's delight. 
You have fattened your greed and you merit 
The squalor your streets shall inherit. 

In their innocent glory and grace, 
They, the primeval lords of the place, 
Ere your earliest highway was trod. 
Had grown old in the service of God; 
And with arms lifted up, as in prayer. 
Gave Him thanks for the sunlight and air, 
For the nourishing moss at their feet; 
And the thrushes that made their retreat 
In the heart of this Eden so long, 
For their lodging gave tribute of song. 
E'en the violets, dotting the sward. 
Breathing perfume of prayer to the Lord, 
Paid in full for their leasehold; but you — 
In the service of Mammon, you grew 



CANZONI 125 



To a huddle of houses and mills, 

Spreading squalor through hollows and hills, 

Till your grimy arms reached through your 

smoke 
To this grove of the Poplar and Oak. 

They are gone! 0! implacable City, 

'Twixt a night and a night, 
With no pang of regret or of pity. 

You have slain them outright. 
Though their beauty besought you to spare it, 
To keep it forever and wear it 

For your own and your children's delight. 
You have fattened your greed and you merit 
The squalor your streets shall inherit. 



126 CANZONI 



A SONG FOR FEBRUARY 



F 



FEBRUARY! 

Chilly, chary 

Of the vistas visionary 
Through savannas blue and airy, 
Where the fancy seeks to see 
Promise of the days to be! 
Little sun and little blue 
Pierce your dull, gray mantle through; 
Saddest of our months are you, 

February. 

Out upon you! We will sing 
To another, kindlier thing, 
Hoping that our song may bring 
Some returning, flashing wing 
Which is augural of spring 

To the heavens' brightening arch. 
Come, then, forward from the South 
Birds with music in the mouth! 
Forward! all ye sleeping seeds. 
Forward ! brooks among your reeds, 
Violets and eglantine, 
Forward ! all along the line, 

March! 



CANZONI 127 



THE BIRTH-MONTH 

IN the merry month of May, 
Gemini, my stars, are swinging 
Midmost in the great sun's way; 

And the marching planets, bringing 
Once again my natal day, 

Strangely stir my heart to singing 
In the merry month of May. 

In the merry month of May, 
Life and all it holds is dearer; 

Be the zenith blue or gray — 
Possibly my vision's clearer 

Now than ever, who shall say? — 
Heaven, to me, seems surer, nearer, 

In the merry month of May. 

In the merry month of May, 
Closer than my birth-stars, o'er me 

Broods a spirit, bright as they; 
Spirit potent to restore me. 

Blessing still my natal day — 
She, the sainted one who bore me 

In the merry month of May! 



128 CANZONI 



A SONG FOR JUNE 

OUR purse, my dear, is flat 
(It never yet was fat), 
Our garments worn and sere 
(They were the same last year), 
And frugally we dine 
(Who never craved for wine). 
Admitting that, 

O ! why, my dear, 
Repine? 
The merry world's in tune. 
And fruits and flowers thrive 
And robins sing, like mad: 
"Ho! it is June, 
And we're alive; 
Be glad! " 

Here are we, still together 
(And richer by the weather) ; 
There's nothing we would borrow 
(0! certainly not sorrow), 
But just what Heaven lends us 
(This blue sky that attends us). 
Why care a feather 
What the morrow 
Sends us? 



CANZONI 129 



This golden afternoon 
Bees buzz about the hive 
And robins sing, like mad: 
" Ho ! it is June, 
And we're alive; 
Be gladl " 



I30 CANZONI 



THE VETERAN MARCHING ALONE 

WHEN the Post turns out to-morrow 
To honor our martial dead, 
Let them count me among the absent, 

Let them reckon me ill in bed; 
Yet gallant shall be my marching 
And holy the ground I tread. 

I have vaunted too long my valor 

And the valor of other men; 
But the wisdom my years denied me — 

My threescore years and ten — 
The dream of a night has supplied me: 

I never shall march again! 

For this was the sleep-wrought vision 

That came to me in my bed : 
I was dead; I had passed in battle 

And my warrior-soul had fled 
To the field of the last great muster, 

The bivouac of the dead. 

I was one of the countless millions, 

The heroes of many lands; 
Pale spirits who stood in silence 

Awaiting the Lord's commands, 
The vanquished like to the victors 

With drooping palms in their hands. 



CANZONI 131 



Then a great voice swept above us, 
And it winnowed us like a wind, 

Crying: " Ye who have suffered in battle 
And given to help your kind. 

Ye shall find the greater before ye 
And the lesser givers behind! " 

Then I looked behind and about me 
And rejoiced that my rank was good, 

Far back as my gaze could fathom 
Was a knightly brotherhood; 

Then I turned to the ranks before me. 
Where the greatest of givers stood. 

And lo ! where the clouds of glory 
Encompassed the God of War, 

There were numberless legions of women 
All standing His throne before, 

And each, in her wan arms lifted, 
A living child upbore! 

Then the palms in my hand were withered 
And I wept in the dark, alone; 

And I thought of a long-dead woman. 
Whose giving outweighed my own. 

And I thought of the grave that held her 
Unmarked of flower or stone. 



132 CANZONI 



When the Post turns out to-morrow 
To honor our martial dead, 

Let them count me among the absent, 
Let them reckon me ill in bed; 

Yet gallant shall be my marching 
And holy the ground I tread. 



CANZONI 133 



THE BIRTH O' TAM O' SHANTER 

[To a friendly challenge from Captain Grose we are 
indebted for this admirable masterpiece (Tam o' Shanter). 
Burns having entreated him to make honorable mention of 
Alloway Kirk in his Antiquities of Scotland, he promised 
compliance with the request upon condition that the poet 
should supply him with a metrical witch story as an ac- 
companiment to the engraving. Mrs. Burns it was who 
related to Kromek the marvelous rapidity with which this 
poem was produced. According to her, it was the work 
of a single day, • * * as Alexander Smith puts it, with 
an exultant chuckle, the best day's work ever done in Scot- 
land since Bruce won Bannockburn. Burns, during the 
early part of that memorable day, had passed the time 
alone in pacing his favorite walk, upon the river bank. 
Thither in the afternoon he was followed by his " bonnie 
Jean" and some of their children. Finding that he was 
"crooning to himself," and fearing lest their presence might 
be an interruption, his considerate wife loitered some little 
distance behind among the bloom and heather with her 
brood of young ones. There her attention was caught by 
the poet's impassioned gesticulations. She could hear him 
repeating aloud, while the tears ran down his face: "Now, 
Tam! O, Tam! had they been queans." Toward evening, 
when the storm of composition had fairly run out, Burns, 
we are told by M'Diarmid, committed the verses to writing 
upon the top of a sod dyke, overhanging the river; and 
directly they were completed rushed indoors to read them 
aloud by the fireside in a tone of rapturous exultation.] — 
Rev. Dr. J. Loughran Scott, in the Alloway Edition of 
Burns' Works. 

[Read before the Burns Club of St, Louis on January 25, 
1916]. 



134 CAN20NI 



HOW broke the east upon that day, 
In fire and blood or ashes gray? 
And did a rich or niggard boon 
Of sunlight gild-the Nith at noon? 
Who knows or cares? For on that morning, 
WTien Tarn o' Shanter, without warning, 
Came gloriously down to earth. 
The river, singing at his birth, 
Wore on its face a mystic light; 
For in that moment reached its height 
The lyric fire, the dying flare 
From out the heart of Burns of Ayr! 

O! little Nith! O! happy river, 

You shall not lose that gleam forever; 

Your waves, whatever moods betide them. 

Shall sing of him who walked beside them 

And from his great heart wove a story 

That was the crown upon his glory. 

And on that morning when he came 

With frenzied eye and cheek aflame 

To feast his soul upon the food 

That poets find in solitude, 

What was the charm you held him with, 

O! helpful little river Nith? 

Ah, well I know the way you did it! 

I shall not mince nor gloss the credit. 



CANZONI 135 



But, auditing the dim dead past, 
Shall here set down your score at last. 

To you, that morning (Wlio shall care 

If skies above were dull or fair?) 

The poet, seeking comfort, brought 

His fecund fancy, big with thought. 

Beside your bonnie banks he walked. 

And ever as he went he talked 

The quaint, blithe things that thronged his brain 

And conned them o'er and o'er again ; 

And presently the liquid laughter 

Of pleasant waters gurgled after. 

And, as a voice by harp attended. 

With borrowed beauty grows more splendid. 

So waxed the poet's budding song 

Where light your ripples leaped along. 

You smiled and danced and made your measures 

To match his song of ale-house pleasures. 

Where Tarn and cronies came to mingle 

Beside their comfortable ingle; 

But when the " reaming swats " came thicker 

And Robin's tongue, that sang of liquor, 

Grew overloud and full of yearning, 

No doubt you set your rapids churning. 

To draw his thoughts from off the " nappy " 

And keep him singing, blithe and happy. 



136 CANZONI 

Then, when he pushed those joys aside 
And sallied forth with Tarn to ride, 
(For well you know that Tarn o' Shanter 
Was not alone upon that canter) 
How well again his mood was fellowed! 
Among your rocks the thunder bellowed; 
Your spray upon the light breeze passed 
For " rattlin' showers upon the blast "; 
You made the " Doon pour all his floods," 
The " doubling storm roar through the woods "; 
And somewhere in your shadows lurk 
The dancers in the ruined kirk. 

But when that dance grew wild and furious 

And Tam, with watching, much too curious; 

And Robin, prattling of the " queans, 

A' plump and strapping in their teens," 

Seemed bent on lingering overlong, 

I like to think that then the song 

In all your rippling waves you stilled. 

As by the breath of winter chilled. 

That Robin, in the pause, might hear 

His " bonnie Jean " and children near; 

And draw his thoughts from " sarks o' flannel " 

And back into the proper channel. 



CANZONI 137 



Then witli your song and liquid laughter 
You rose again to follow after, 
With O ! what sympathetic feeling, 
Where faithful Meg, the mare, goes reeling 
Across the bridge that spans the flood. 
By all the ghostly crew pursued. 
And carries off her master, hale, 
But leaves behind her own grey tail. 

And when the day was done you knew 
The poet's exaltation, too; 
'Twas yours at fall of dusk to share 
The calm that soothed the Bard of Ayr, 
And through the night, O happy stream! 
You were a music in his dream. 
There, musing by some mossy stone. 
Perhaps, ah, yes, you must have known 
That though again upon your shore 
The poet still would walk, no more 
Would Time bring round to you the bliss 
Of any day to match with this — 
The very cap-sheaf on the past. 
The greatest labor and the last. 

Oh ! in the fire of that one day 
How many years were burned away? 
And in the torrents of his tears 



138 CANZONI 



Were lost how many unborn years? 

For this man took life's cup and laughed 

And strove to drain it at a draught, 

What tragedy was in this mirth, 

O! river, singing at its birth? 

What holocaust was in the light 

With which your morning face was bright? 

O! little Nith! O! happy river, 
You shall not lose that gleam forever; 
Your waves, whatever moods betide them, 
Shall sing of him who walked beside them 
And from his great heart wove a story 
That was the crown upon his glory! 



CANZONI 139 



SUMMER'S SWAN-SONG 

01 HAVE ye seen Rogue Autumn? 
• He's hiding hereabout 
To rob me of my green domain 

And put my birds to rout. 
He's marshaling his army; 
The skirmishers are out. 
" All's well! All's well! " the katydids, 
His nightly pickets, shout. 

Rogue Autumn, bold pretender. 

Conspiring with the sun. 
Is working in the morning mists 

That I may be undone. 
Already through my fields and woods 

The fires of treason run; 
My myriad leaves are putting on 

His colors, one by one. 

Thy breath at night, Rogue Autumn, 
Strikes chill upon my brow; 

My crown uneasy rests upon 
The head I soon must bow. 



140 CANZONI 



Take thou thy spoil! But there will come 

A mightier than thou, 
Whose winds shall pierce and break thy 
heart, 

As mine is breaking now! 



CANZONI 141 



A SUMMER IDYLL 

THE scene: A public city square, 
With crowded benches here and there. 
The time: A drowsy afternoon, 
Charged with the heady wine of June. 
Chief actors: Voice, Law's voice, supreme 
And harsh with petty power: and Dream, 
A vagrant sprite that stops to play 
'Round one old head unkempt and gray. 

The Dream: 

Ah! rest. How far off seems the street- 
Its heat still tingles in my feet. 
But Lord! how sweet this is, how sweet! — 
And O! the shade, this blessed shade 
That all the little leaves have made— 
The little leaves— they're whispering now- 
Whispering? They're singing on the bough! 
How clear and sweet the whole tree sings — 
Tree? It's a golden bird with wings! 
How soft its back is! Sweet to lie 
Snug in its feathers here and fly 
Where Heaven is so wide and clear — 



142 CANZONI 



The Voice: 
Heyl Set up straight; ye can't sleep here! 

The Dream: 
. . . The nurse-maid smiled, 
But she looked kind; so did the child. 
What dimpled cheeks 1 so round, so fair. 
Like peaches. . . . Peaches, everywhere! 
Wait, little boy, don't climb the trees. 
See how tlie fruit swings in the breeze. 
Lie here with me until they fall. 
Here where the grass is thick and tall, 
Stretch yourself out and lie at ease. 
Don't shake I don't shake 1 don't shake the 

trees 1 
Here they come pelting down like rain — 

The Voice: 
Here, Bo! I warn ye onct again. 

The Dream: 
.... His coat is blue. 
Yet Heaven has the self-same hue; 
How odd; . . . His belt looks tight in back. 
And mine — it never was so slack. 
Somewhere, somewhere, there's bread and 
meat; 



CANZONI 143 



Somewhere, perhaps, but then the street — 
If I could wet my face and hair 
With water from that fountain there — 
How sparkingly the ripples break, 
And what a pleasant sound they make! 
Drip! drip! ... the mill-wheel turns so 

slow, 
So slow, so slow — Ah! there's a fish! 
He's in the net! Now for a dish 
That any royal king might wish! . . . 
01 peaceful pipe beside the fire — 
The moon's up now and rising higher. 
Snug is the camp, crisp-cool the night. 
The embers flare up, warm and bright! 
The waves of heat that beat, beat, beat, 
Upon the weary, way-worn feet — 

The Voice: 

I warned you twice an' now you're done. 
Git out 0' here! Move on! move on! 



144 CANZONI 



" ADA REHAN IS DEAD " 

THOSE few lines on the printed page 
Call up for me a darkened stage. . . 
And Fancy in the shadowy wings 
Paints ghosts of dear, once happy things — 
Bright elves which in that place had birth 
Of clear-eyed Truth and frolic Mirth, 
And, having filled their hour of grace. 
Now, mute, on tiptoe, haunt the place. . . . 
Nor light nor any sound is there 
To strike across the brooding air, 
But still a sense above it all 
Of something evil to befall. . . . 
Then sounds, off-stage, one tap — no more — 
As of a knuckle on a door. 
And with the sound a gust upblows, 
Chill as the breath of Arctic snows; 
The grisly call-boy in the dark 
Is waiting at the threshold. Hark! 
He speaks! His tones sepulchral frame 
The loved, but half-forgotten, name. 
A brave, sweet voice makes answering hail, 
And merging with it breaks a wail 
Of sobbing in the upper air. . . . 
A thin light stabs the dark — and there 



CANZONI 145 



A youth — nay, but the merest boy — 

Who loved this Priestess of Pure Joy, 

Leans from the gallery and peers 

Down, stageward, through a mist of tears. . 

The weeping stops; the last faint note 

Chokes back into my aching throat. 

For in this boyish mourner see 

The lad that once I used to be. . . . 

With all a boy's abandonment 

I loved her then, this Heaven-sent 

Interpreter of all the moods 

And womanly beatitudes. 

I loved her graceful ways and each 

Delicious little trick of speech 

That marked her dearer than the rest. 

But O! my heart was happiest 

In this, which in that heart I knew: 

That she was wholly sweet and true. . . . 

I mourn for her, but are these tears 

Not also for the buried years? 

And for the thought that with her dies 

Another of the crumbling ties 

Between me and my happy youth? 

Ah, yes, I know it, and the truth 

Makes sudden riot in the heart, 

Where once she queened it with her art. 



146 CANZONI 

YESTERDAY'S RAIN 

A SUNDAY misty and wet 
Moves us to chafe and complain, 
Robbed of our outing, and yet 

Came there in yesterday's rain — 
Light as the spray of the sea, 
Soft as the dropping of dew — 
So many blessings to me, 

Surely you noticed them, too. 

Windows fronting the East 

Bare of shutter and pane, 
Took, as the light increased, 

Silver driftings of rain. 
Slowly the moisture crept 

Over my pillow and bed 
Drowning the dream I'd kept 

Warm in my drowsy head. . . . 

There to me came, as I lay, 

Out of the neighboring woods 
Waking sounds of the day. 

Calls of the solitudes; 
Thrushes caroling near, 

Church-bells over the hill, 
The whine of the housedog here 

Under my window-sill — 



CANZONI 147 



But over and through it all 

The liquid laughter of leaves 
Glad for the gifts that fall 

Over the world's wide eaves, 
Glad for the cleansing rain, 

Drenching branches and sod, 
Suckling the ripening grain, 

Plumping beans in the pod. . . 

Possibly, so I thought, 

These are the tears of the bless'd 
Shed for a world distraught 

By hatreds and wild unrest; 
This is a holy rain 

Cleansing the blood-stained sod, 
Bringing to earth again 

Peace and the smile of God. . . , 

Call it a mood if you will, 

Call it my fancy alone; 
That may account for it; still, 

Possibly others may own 
Share in this little refrain, 

Share in the blessings I drew 
Out of the mist and the rain. 

Surely, you noticed them, too. 



148 CANZONI 



BALLADE OF THE SEA 

MARK and chart my midmost foam; 
Catch and hold my spindrift's snow. 
Is there under God's wide dome 
Anything doth freer go 
Than my pulsing to and fro? 
Save for the eternal One, 

Unto whom my all I owe, 
Lord or mistress have I none. 

All the grandeur that was Rome 

Barely set my face aglow; 
Earth it won and made its home; 

But my waves, unbridled so, 

Over buried cities flow. 
Save for the eternal One, 

Unto whom my all I owe, 
Lord or mistress have I none. 

Spanish Philip's vaunt the gloom 
Of my coral depths below 

Holds in age-forgotten doom. 
Me may other braggarts know 
Their most sure and potent foe. 



CANZONI 149 



Save for the eternal One, 

Unto whom my all I owe, 
Lord or mistress have I none. 



l'envoi 



Prince, thy pride may get thee woe! 

Save for the eternal One, 
Unto whom my all I owe, 

Lord or mistress have I none. 



150 CANZONI 



THE SONG OF THE MARCH WIND 

I AM the minstrel, the maker of mirth, 
And the forest my harp is: 
From the fibres asleep in the heart of the earth, 
Where its woof and its warp is, 
I fashion the spring 
With the song that I sing! 

I, that am breathed of the mouth of my God, 

Am His music in motion ; 
And His breath on my winds shakes the slumber- 
ing sod 
And the floor of the ocean; 

And I fashion the spring 
With the song that I sing! 

I am the breath of your nostrils, O man! 

And akin to your spirit; 
But our God's voice was mine ere your singing 
began. 
So rejoice when you hear it; 

For I bring you the spring 
With the song that I sing! 



CANZONI 151 



DARBY AND JOAN 

THEY come into the parlor car 
And take their seats beside me. 
How very commonplace they are! 

I know my wife would chide me, 
And call it rude of me to stare 

At this old man and woman, 
But, since they do not seem to care, 

Why shouldn't I be human? 
I've read my paper through and through— 

There's mighty little in it — 
And so I've nothing else to do 

But watch them for a minute. 
They offer little promise, though, 

Of charm to the beholder; 
I judge her sixty-five or so. 

And he a trifle older. . . . 

I've watched them for a hundred miles! 

I'd watch another hundred, 
To share the paradise that smiles 

Around them! How I blundered, 
To call this couple commonplace. 

Youth's glory and Romance's 
Play sunnily about each face 

And glimmer in their glances. 



152 CANZONI 



His heart, a bee above the flower, 

Around her form is flitting, 
And she — how well she knows her power !- 

She snares it in her knitting. 
Here's Love that is forever new, 

That feasts and still doth hunger — 
Ah! he's eternal twenty-two 

And she a trifle younger. 

Let my love, Lord, for my mate grow 

Thus god-like, to enfold her, 
When she is three-score-ten or so, 

And I a trifle older. 



CANZONI 153 



THE VILLAGE POET 

WHENEVER it's a Saturday— oh, long be- 
fore the dew 
Is drunken by the golden sun that climbs the 

cloudless blue, 
Almost before the nested birds have started in to 

stir, 
I rise an hour earlier and take a walk with HER. 

I wonder if you realize the joy — and joy to 

spare — 
The May-time morning carries in its lilac-laden 

air; 
I wonder if you know what lyric breezes are about 
To take the trees and shake their lovely leafy 

banners out, 
To fill the winds with music and to blow a 

vagrant tress 
Across your cheek, that burns at such unwonted 

wantonness. 
Of course you cannot know all this. You would, 

though, if you were 
To rise an hour earlier and take a walk with 

HER. 



154 CANZONI 



I wonder if you know what joys, when morning's 

gates unlock, 
The winds of May blow round the world 'twixt 

dawn and six o'clock. 
I wonder that with droning nose above your 

blanket's hem 
You lie there in the growing light, oblivious to 

them. 
How can you be a slug-a-bed and soak yourself 

in sleep 
When there are in the dewy dells sweet trystings 

you might keep? 
Oh! If you'd know the best of joys of all that 

ever were 
You'd rise an hour earlier and take a walk with 

HER. 

That's why when it's a Saturday — oh, long before 

the dew 
Is drunken by the golden sun that climbs the 

cloudless blue. 
Almost before the nested birds have started in to 

stir, 
I rise an hour earlier and take a walk with HER. 



CANZONI 155 



A SONG TO ONE 

IF few are won to read my lays 
And offer me a word of praise, 
If there are only one or two 
To take my rhymes and read them through, 
I may not claim the poet's bays. 

I care not, when my Fancy plays 
Its one sweet note, if it should raise 
A host of listeners or few — 
If you are one. 

The homage that my full heart pays 
To Womanhood in divers ways, 

Begins and ends, my love, in you. 

My lines may halt, but strong and true 
My soul shall sing through all its days. 
If you are won. 



SONGS OF WEDLOCK 



SONGS OF WEDLOCK 159 



THE PERFECT SOLITUDE 

WHEN, sick at heart and weary of my kind 
And of the day-long traffic, I would find 
The peace and healing touch of solitude, 
I envy no lone eremite who stands, 
Sealed up with silence on the desert sands, 

Where never murmurs of the world intrude. 
I know a sweeter place, a holier bower 
For the enshrining of the quiet hour. 

Mine is a solitude that two may share, 
A lamp-lit table, with an easy chair 

At either end, a friendly book for each, 
And — save for clock-ticks pulsing in the room — 
Sweet silence; but a silence that may bloom. 

At her will or at mine, to loving speech. 
This is the dearest place, the holiest bower 
For the enshrining of the quiet hour. 



i6o SONGS OF WEDLOCK 



WHEN DAY BEGINS 

WHEN doth the light of day begin, 
And what far gates first let it in? 
The calm deep blue of morning skies 
Doth greet me earliest from your eyes; 
My first warm glint of sunlight flashes 
Across the soft gold of your lashes; 
And the first breath of day that thrills 
'Twixt dawn-flushed sky and waking hills, 
O'er pure mid-ocean's foam-flecked reaches. 
O'er spume-swept rocks and silvern beaches, 
To the near fields whose chaliced blooms 
Catch and distill the winds' perfumes 
To honey-dew that wild bees sip, 

Is not so pure, 

So quick, so sure 
As the warm kiss upon your lip — 
The golden kiss which is the key 
That opes the day for me. 



SONGS OF WEDLOCK i6i 

TO A THRUSH 

SING clear, O! throstle, 
Thou golden-tongued apostle 
And little brown-frocked brother 

Of the loved Assisian! 
Sing courage to the mother, 

Sing strength into the man, 
For they, who in another May 

Trod Hope's scant wine from grapes of pain, 
Have tasted in thy song to-day 

The bitter-sweet red lees again. 
To them in whose say May-time thou 
Sang'st comfort from thy maple bough. 

To tinge the presaged dole with sweet, 
O ! prophet then, be prophet now 

And paraclete! 

That fateful May! The pregnant vernal night 

Was throbbing with the first faint pangs of day, 
The while with ordered urge toward life and light, 
Earth-atoms countless groped their destined 
way; 
And one full-winged to fret 
Its tender oubliette, 
The warding mother-heart above it woke. 
Darkling she lay in doubt, then, sudden wise. 



i62 SONGS OF WEDLOCK 

Whispered her husband's drowsy ear and broke 
The estranging seal of slumber from his eyes: 
" My hour is nigh: arise! " 

Already, when, with arms for comfort linked, 
The lovers at an eastward window stood, 
The rosy day, in cloudy swaddlings, blinked 
Through misty green new-fledged in Wister 
Wood. 
Breathless, upon this birth 
The still-entranced earth 
Seemed brooding, motionless in windless space. 

Then rose thy priestly chant, O! holy bird! 
And heaven and earth were quickened with its 
grace; 
To tears two wedded souls were moved who 

heard, 
And one, unborn, was stirred! 

O ! Comforter, enough that from thy green 

Hid tabernacle in the wood's recess 
To those care-haunted lovers thou, unseen, 
Shouldst send thy flame-tipped song to cheer 
and bless. 
Enough for them to hear 
And feel thy presence near; 



SONGS OF WEDLOCK 163 

And yet when he, regardful of her ease, 

Had led her back by brightening hall and stair 

To her own chamber's quietude and peace, 
One maple-bowered window shook with rare, 
Sweet song — and thou wert there! 

Hunter of souls! the loving chase so nigh 

Those spirits twain had never come before. 
They saw the sacred flame within thine eye; 
To them the maple's depths quick glory wore, 
As though God's hand had lit 
His altar fire in it, 
And made a fane, of virgin verdure pleached, 

Wlierefrom thou might'st in numbers musical 
Expound the age-sweet words thy Francis 
preached 
To thee and thine, of God's benignant thrall 
That broodeth over all. 

And they, athirst for comfort, sipped thy song. 

But drank not yet thy deeper homily. 
Not yet, but when parturient pangs grew strong, 
And from its cell the young soul struggled 
free — 
A new joy, trailing grief, 
A little crumpled leafj 



i64 SONGS OF WEDLOCK 

Blighted before it bourgeoned from the stem — 
Thou, as the fabled robin to the rood, 

Wert minister of charity to them; 
And from the shadows of sad parenthood 
They heard and understood. 

Makes God one soul a lure for snaring three? 

Ah! surely; so this nursling of the nest. 
This teen-touched joy, ere birth anoint of thee, 

Yet bears thy chrismal music in her breast. 
Five Mays have come and sped 
Above her sunny head. 
And still the happy song abides in her. 

For though on maimed limbs the body creeps. 
It doth a spirit house whose pinions stir 

Familiarly the far cerulean steeps 

Where God His mansion keeps. 

So come, 0! throstle, 

Thou golden-tongued apostle 
And little brown-frocked brother 

Of the loved Assissian! 
Sing courage to the mother. 

Sing strength into the man. 
That she who in another May 

Came out of heaven, trailing care. 



SONGS OF WEDLOCK 165 

May never know that sometimes gray 
Earth's roof is and its cupboards bare. 

To them in whose sad May-time thou 

Sang'st comfort from thy maple bough, 
To tinge the presaged dole with sweet, 

O! prophet then, be prophet now 
And paraclete! 



i66 SONGS OF WEDLOCK 



THE JOURNEY 

YOU are so brave, so loyal and so true! 
You bring such sunshine to the last farewell 
When some far duty calls me forth from you, 

What fears consume your heart I cannot tell; 
Not mine to know what prayers or teardrops pour 
From your pent heart, when you have closed 
the door. 
But this I know: Howlong, how far I roam, 

My honor and my babes are safe with you 
And light and sweetness shall illume our home; 
You are so brave, so true! 

You are so brave, so loyal and so true, 

I should be worse than craven did I fail 
To make the last long kiss I had from you 

My knightly sword and shield and triple mail. 
You cannot see, through leagues of space that 
part, 

If passion or if peace be in my heart. 
But this believe: How long, how far I roam. 

Whatever my mind may plan or hands may do, 
I would be worthy to be welcomed home 

By you, so brave, so true! 



SONGS OF WEDLOCK 167 

IN WINTRY WEATHER 

WHAT was the impulse wild that led us forth 
That boist'rous night, 
When to the gusty wooing of the North 
The world lay white, 
And trees in icy mail 
Gave battle to the gale 
That armed them so? 
What spell impelled us, dear, 
To quit our ingle's cheer 
To frolic in the snow? 

O! Youth! 0! wild, sweet fire 
That burnest brighter, higher, 
With strong and pure desire 

At touch of wintry weather. 
With equal flame inspire 

My love and me together ! 

What of the pale, gray years that are to come 

Upon us twain? 
When nights tempestuous then rage 'round our 
home 
Will we be fain 
To pluck with fingers chill 



i68 SONGS OF WEDLOCK 

From Winter's heart the thrill 

That now we know? 
Shall either care, my dear, 
To quit our ingle's cheer 

To frolic in the snow? 

01 Age, when Youth is over, 
And we, old wife and lover, 
About this hearthstone hover 

In wild and wintry weather, 
With peaceful mem'ries cover 

My love and me together! 



SONGS OF WEDLOCK 169 



INSCRIPTION FOR A FIREPLACE 

I'M Home's heart! Warmth I give and light, 
If you but feed me. 
I blossom in the winter night, 
When most yoU need me. 

To melt your cares, to warm your guest. 

My cheer's supplied you; 
But, O ! to know me at my best, 

Hold Her beside you! 



170 SONGS OF WEDLOCK 



THE MOTHER 

SHE was so frail, my little one, 
She had not yet begun to stir 
Her tiny limbs; from sun to sun, 

This breast, these arms maternal were 
The bounded universe for her. 

But now far spaces feel her might, 
And sad, sweet thoughts of her arise 

With every sun; she stirs the night 
With sighing winds, and from the skies 
She looks at me with starry eyes. 



A 



SONGS OF WEDLOCK 171 



A SONG FOR JANUARY 

NEW door opens to the fresh, sweet air, 
And one swings shut behind us. 
Time still is ours ! but in the darkness there 
We've left a little joy, a little care, 

Whose ghosts alone go with us to remind us. 
How transitory pleasure is and pain, 
How brief may be our faring ere we gain 
One quiet nook — our own for evermore — 

And next year may not find us 
With eager feet before its opening door 

When this swings shut behind us. 

But cheer! Sing cheer 

To the glad New Year! 
Come, blend your voice in the chorus! 

Ho ! what care we 

Where the shut doors be? 
Here's an opening door before us! 



172 SONGS OF WEDLOCK 



INSPIRATION 

" /^ OOD NIGHT," and then your candle's 

VJT feeble flare 
Went glimmering up the stair; 

A door closed and the house was still, 
Slow, hour by hour, the night grew old. 
And from the smouldering hearth the cold 

Stole forth and laid its chill 
On fingers weary of the pen, 
On heart and brain that had been fain 
" To make a song of cheer. 
For, oh, the summer warm and bright 
You conjured in the winter night 
Went upward with your candlelight, 

Went with you up the stair. 



SONGS OF WEDLOCK i73 



THE SANCTUM 

IORD, God of love, the wedded heart's 
J Sure Comforter, 
01 make mine pure in all its parts, 

For Thee and Her! 
Pour, Lord, the flood-tide of Thy grace 
Through all its chambers, and efface 
Each secret thought's abiding place. 

I pray thee make 
One shrine of it, which Thou and she 
May jointly share, that it may be 
Open to her. Lord, as to Thee, 

For her dear sake. 

Lord, God of love, who givest me 

Her heart of fire. 
Long keep it mine, but let it be 

Not mine entire. 
Though mine the honeyed tenderness. 
That wells therein to cheer and bless 
When joys elate or cares depress, 

I pray Thee make 
Thy secret shrine within its core. 
Let me before one close-sealed door 
Cry " Non sum dignus " o'er and o'er 

For her dear sake. 



174 SONGS OF WEDLOCK: 

PERENNIAL MAY 

MAY walks the earth again, 
This old earth, and the same 
Green spurts of tender flame 
Burn now on sod and tree 
That burned when first she came, 
Dear love, to you and me. 
If any change there be — 
A greater or a less 
Degree of loveliness — 
It is not ours to see. 
Dear love, 
Not ours to feel or see. 

May thrills our hearts again, 
These old hearts, and the bough 
Burns not with blossoms now 
That blow more splendidly. 
For, since our wedded vow 
Made one of you and me, 
If any change there be — 
A greater or a less 
Degree of tenderness — 
It is not ours to see. 
Dear love, 
Not ours to feel or see. 



SONGS OF WEDLOCK 175 

AT THE THRESHOLD 

CARES of the day, like a peddler's pack, 
Tawdry and profitless, weighing me down, 
Burdened my brain and my bended back 

As I turned to you out of the town. 
Listlessly, slowly, my laggard feet, 

Timed to the torpor of heart and brain, 
Brought me at length to the quiet street 

With the home-light warm at the pane. 
Then I shook my cares from their lingering hold 
And I laid them there in the outer cold 

Till the workaday morrow to rest, 
For these were things for the teeming mart, 
And not for your gentle breast, dear heart, 

Oh! not for your gentle breast. 

Wearing a smile that my heart belied, 

Over the threshold I passed to you. 
What was the charm of our ingleside. 

Where we dreamed our old dreams anew? 
What was the spell of delight we wove 

Out of soft laughter and song and jest? 
Glamor of youth and the old, old love 

And the peace, of your quiet breast. 
And, behold ! when the day is come once more. 



176 SONGS OF WEDLOCK 

And I shoulder my cares at the outer door, 

What miracle sweet is this? 
All the burden I bear to the teeming mart 
Is light and sweet as your kiss, dear heart, 

Oh! sweet as your fragrant kiss. 



SONGS OF WEDLOCK 177 



HER MUSIC 

THY soul was in thy fingers when they 
strayed 
Among the keys, at twilight hour to-night; 
Then, winging with the melody they made, 

It soared, by mine companioned, to the height 
Where holy Melancholy sat, arrayed 

One length in gloom and one all golden 
bright. . . . 
Thy soul, returning, brought but shreds of shade; 
Mine filched the golden light. 

Then, when I smiled and would not match thy 
mood 

With solemn speech, thou sought'st thy lonely 
bed. 
But that was hours agone, and thou hast wooed 
Forgetfulness with tears so softly shed. 
But I! How swift this June-night solitude 

Hath poured prophetic sorrow on my head. 
Here is my soul stripped bare. Promethean food 

For one sharp-taloned dread. 

Death is a wholesome thing for inward thought, 
But not for mutual speech, dear heart. 



lyS SONGS OF WEDLOCK 

Oh! long may Azrael leave us twain unsought; 

But when he comes, I pray, not thine the part, 
Lorn lingerer in years with sadness fraught, 

To scent new-broken earth with such a start 
And pang of loss as June's sweet breezes brought 

To me to-night, dear heart. 



SONGS OF WEDLOCK 179 



THE CITADEL 

IN dust of petty war 
My plume to-day was trailed: 
With barbs that pricked me sore 
My enemy assailed, 
And for the nonce prevailed. 
'Twas his day, I admit. 

But now the west has paled 
And here's an end of it. 

My enemy — the fool! — 

Believes me beaten well. 
With boasts and ridicule 

His conquest let him tell ; 

But when the shadows fell 
I rose up and withdrew 

To this my citadel — 
The quiet night and you! 

Another day awaits 

Beyond the orient rim; 
But, ere it opes its gates, 

Your love shall mend my vim; 

One day's defeat shall dim 



i8o SONGS OF WEDLOCK 

Your faith in me no whit. 

This day belonged to him, 
But here's an end of it. 

How fatuous this foe, 
Who wars in street and mart 

And hopes to lay me low. 
Yet hath no venomed dart, 
Howe'er it bite and smart. 

To strike his hate unto 

This stronghold of my heart — 

The quiet night and you! 



SONGS OF WEDLOCK i8i 



A SONG FOR AUGUST 

HERE'S the year on the wane. 
There are signs in the sky, 
In the woods, on the plain, 

That its noon has gone by. 
But the harvest's to gain 

And the cool nights are nigh, 
When the year's on the wane. 

Here's the year on the wane. 

There's a hawk in the blue; 
In the wheat a red stain 

Where the poppy peeps through. 
But there's bread in the grain 

And there's warmth o' love, too, 
When the year's on the wane. 

Here's the year on the wane. 

From the night-shrouded hill. 
Comes the katydid's strain, 

And the wind's whistle shrill. 
But two hearts may contain 

All the spring's music still, 
When the year's on the wane. 



i82 SONGS OF WEDLOCK 



LOVE IS ETERNAL 

LOVE is eternal. It never can die. 
/ Though we lull it with laughter or drug it 
with sorrow, 
Not the primeval sea, not the sun in the sky, 
Not the reaches of space are so sure of a mor- 
row. 
As the waters of ocean in vapor ascending, 
Then in rain-nourished streams through the green 
valleys wending 
Have the ocean again for their ultimate win- 
ning. 
Shall not Love, through all changes, move on to 
its ending 
In the bosom of God, whence it had its begin- 
ning? 

Love is immortal. It is not of earth. 

Though ill fortune retard it, dear, what does 
it matter? 
Shall a harvest of roses be deemed of no worth 
When the taint of each canker is purged in the 
attar? 
If earth's waters are purest through heaven's re- 
fining. 



SONGS OF WEDLOCK 183 

Shall the ills of this world chill our love with 
repining? 
Here we sow, but not here reap the meed of 
endeavor, 
For the fruits of our love, past all human divining, 
In the bosom of God we shall harvest forever. 



i84 SONGS OF WEDLOCK 



THE QUEEN'S FLEETS 

TAKE for thy throne, my queen, this niche 
my hand 

Hath carved for thee, 
Here in the gray breast of this dune of sand 

That fronts the sea. 
In sovereign state aloof, the soHtude 
Hedging thee round, as once thy maidenhood. 
Make me no partner of thy thought or speech 

This hour when day and darkness meet, 
But count me merely jetsam of the beach, 

Here at thy feet. 

It is mute beauty's hour. No late bird sings; 

Voiceless, serene, 
The sea dreams; Silence holds all lovely things — 

And thou art queen! 
For Silence, in the twilight's gold and red 
Behind thee, sets a crown upon thy head. 
Send forth, O Queen, thy fleets upon the main, 

Send forth thy daring fleets of thought. 
And let me wait to hail them home again 

With riches fraught. 



SONGS OF WEDLOCK 185 

By Fancy captained, send thy fleets afar 

To win the sea; 
Send them to know what spoils in ocean are, 

What mystery, 
What beauty in all things that " suffered change " 
In coral caves to " something rich and strange." 
Then bring them home and I with kingly might 

Will take their treasure, as it lies 
Safe-harbored in the starlit, purple night 

Of thy dear eyes. 



i86 SONGS OF WEDLOCK 



THE LIVING-ROOM 

HERE throbs the home's deep heart! 
From these four walls the full, warm 
spirits start, 
Pulse through the halls, return, and richest bloom 
In this small room. 

For all who gather here when day is done, 
But, most of all, for her, the central One, 
Whose great love to the whole doth warmth 
impart. 
As to the lesser planets doth the Sun, 
Here throbs the home's deep heart. 

This is a Queen's domain. 

And all her subjects, happy in her reign. 

Pray God she may, with her sweet woman's grace. 

Long bless this place. 

This is her court. The little airs that stir 

About the room are eloquent of her. 

Each senseless thing whereon her hand hath 
Iain 
Becomes in its own way a courtier. 

This is a Queen's domain! 



SONGS OF WEDLOCK 187 

This is a holy spot. 

Ah! pity for the man who knows it not! 

But peace and holy calm, the light 0' love 

Knows nothing of, 

The Queen's mate hath, when in the quiet night 

He broods alone beside his ingle's light. 

He knows, when all his heart burns pure and 
hot 
With thoughts too sweet to speak aloud or write. 

This is a holy spot! 



SONGS OF WEDLOCK 



A SONG FOR NOVEMBER 

A GRAY old hag, in cloak and hood 
Of somber gray, 
Gleaning gray twigs and bits of wood 

At close of day, 
November creeps across the land. 
Yet magic gifts are in her hand — 
Her fagots cold need but a spark 

And hearth-stone room, 
And warmth of June from out the dark 
Will burst to bloom. 

Of foster-mothers tenderest, 

Close-harboring 
Earth's sleeping seeds within her breast 

Until the spring. 
Let gray November clasp the land. 
Yet from her lean but kindly hand 

Let us, dear heart, her fagots take, 
And on this stone 

A warm and cheery June-time make; 
Our own, our own 1 



SONGS OF WEDLOCK 189 
TO THE INCONSTANT 

YE are the dullards, and not I, 
Ye conscienceless philanderers 1 
From one love to the next ye fly 

And are forever wanderers. 
O! poor, blind votaries of the chase, 

Ye deem me coldly dutiful 
Who, steadfast, watch one love-lit face 
Grow year by year more beautiful! 

Each new love lives in your desire 

For but a moment's cherishing; 
Your passion is a smouldering fire 

That is forever perishing, 
That, seeking change, hath only found 

The ashes of satiety — 
While mine hath but begun to sound 

Its one love's sweet variety 1 



I90 SONGS OF WEDLOCK 

THE GATES OF PARADISE 

THE gates of Paradise are double, 
And they are blue; 
Blue as the skies when no clouds trouble 

Their perfect hue; 
Blue as the calm face of the ocean 

When winds are still, 
And sunlight only is in motion 

To work its will. 
When skies are dull, the sea is lonely 

And moans or sleeps; 
The quick winds or the warm sun only 

May stir its deeps. 

The gates of Paradise are double, 

And they are blue; 
They ope to love, but cold, gray trouble 

Will clang them to. 
Lord, give me strength that I who love them 

May live aright. 
And spread no tristful clouds above them 

To dim their light. 
By other paths may other mortals 

Win Paradise, 
But keep for me its clearest portals 

In her pure eyes. 



SONGS OF WEDLOCK 191 



NOVEMBER 

JUNE is sweet, for then I found thee; 
But November, gray and cold. 
Weaves warm memories around thee, 
Spun of gold. 

June a rose-time we remember, 
Ere the boy became the man; 

But in earnest with November 
Life began. 

Still I see thee, as we threaded 
Gray woods under grayer skies; 

Strange new hopes and fears were wedded 
In thine eyes. 

And when these had been translated 
Into awed and reverent speech, 

Stronglier then our souls were mated 
Each with each. 

Deep with vernal promise laden. 
As with buds the leafless wood. 

Here was blossoming of the maiden — -- 
Womanhood. 



192 SONGS OF WEDLOCK 

Rich the memories now that hover 
'Round that day when Life began, 

And the lightheart boy, thy lover, 
Was a man. 



SONGS OF WEDLOCK 193 



THE MAN'S PRAYER 

WHEN all is still within these walls, 
And Thy sweet sleep through dark- 
ness falls 
On little hearts that trust in me, 
However bitter toil may be, 
For length of days, O Lordl on Thee, 
My spirit calls. 

Their daily need by day enthralls 
My hand and brain, but when night falls 
And leaves the questioning spirit free 
To brood upon the days to be. 
For time and strength, Lord! on Thee 
My spirit calls. 



194 SONGS OF WEDLOCK 



A SONG FOR DECEMBER 

AUTUMN'S fruits are gathered in 
And the birds have taken wing, 
What of pleasure's left to win 
After song and harvesting? 
Winter hath its own delight, 
Garnering in fields of snow 
Berries red and berries white — 
Holly and the mistletoe! 

So come, come along! 

Winter's winds shall swell our song, 
While with shouts and merry din 
Comes the Yuletide harvest in! 

Age hath reaped its youth and prime 

And the blood stirs cold and thin. 
What for Age hath winter-time? 

What of pleasure's left to win? 
Harvests still of rare delight, 

Joys that once it used to know; 
Berries red and berries white — 

Holly and the mistletoe! 



SONGS OF WEDLOCK 195 

Come, Age, come and sit 
Where the cheery hearth is lit, 

While the young with merry din 

Drag the Yuletide harvest in! 



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